Chapter 51 Cliff

Richard strode down the corridors of The Medical Pavilion, completely oblivious to anyone and anything around him. He turned his plan over in his head like a gambler's lucky coin. It wasn't complicated, but he had required a leap in thinking to arrive at it. Up until today he had been obeying the laws of men – of common men, men who were bound by mortality. But he was no longer like them – he had powers that the bastard children of nereids and gods could only dream of. He had no weak heel nor no champion of the weak-heeled to strike him down.

Doctor Ashland's office was on the other side of the complex. He quickened his pace as he had an errand to attend to first. Although he had been aware of the many plasmid and tonic shops that had sprung up like mushrooms after a rain, Richard had avoided them up until now. He didn't feel the need to blast electricity out of his hands like a sideshow exhibit, but the need for it found him.

Richard strode into one of the several purveyors peddling plasmids in the pavilion. He hurriedly eyed the shelves lined with tonics and plasmids, trying to guess which ones would come in handy. Which ones? I'm already stronger, and faster, and-

All of them, came a consciousness that was one-hundred percent not his own.

He stopped seeing the colorful and smartly designed bottles and needles in front of him. Even Lupe's predicament melted from him. All of them?

Yes. Trust us. Free us. Be us.

His slug had never addressed him in such a manner. Richard had felt him sometimes radiate a general sense of vague contentment or displeasure, but never a solid sentiment, much less a constructed answer to his own internal question. However, he did as he was told and trusted the kick within.

Fortunately, the security agents hadn't stolen all the cash in his wallet, only some of it, and the money earmarked for his honeymoon would be going to good use. "One of each," Richard curtly informed the red-headed young clerk behind the counter.

"One of each?" The clerk seemed more than a little bit surprised. "I em, you gonna take em all in one go?"

"What business is it of yours?" Richard irritatedly replied.

"It's your funeral, buddy," the clerk said as he started to pile up every tonic and plasmid they had in stock. "Don't come crying to me when your bones unhook from taking too much. Speaking of that, you want some ADAM to go along with it? Can't drive your custom Caddy off the side of a cliff without a little gas in the tank."

Richard considered supplementing his reserves. We have everything we need, the other part of his body assured him. We are everything we need. "No," he shortly answered, impatient.

The clerk wordlessly stacked one of everything into a large paper bag. "Alright, that will be…" he punched a multitude of buttons on the cash register. "Wow, okay, fourteen-hundred and twenty-two dollars."

Richard hurriedly counted out the bills and slammed them on the counter. Normally he wouldn't be so crass, but the universe was really testing his patience today. "There," he added, years of manners training straining at the edges of his psyche. "Thank you."

"Go take them somewhere far away from my store, I don't want to deal with whatever this is gonna look like, ok buddy?"

Somewhere was a public bathroom between a crematorium and a sexual therapy center. Richard waited patiently until a man who was urinating left, and then took a last look at his last moments as an unspliced and relatively normal scion of humanity. As he looked at his own reflection the previously unobserved "daytime" glow intensified, producing a faint but distinguishable yellow iridescence.

We are ready. Richard wasn't sure which entity that confidence came from.

Not concerned with what anyone would think should they walk in, Richard unceremoniously injected the first plasmid he pulled from the bag, which turned out to be Insect Swarm, one that he was unfamiliar with. After immediately injecting it he felt a little bit light headed.

Richard shut his eyes and tried to stop the spinning. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea- hundreds of bees erupted from his left hand. He stared at the spectacle in stunned disbelief for a second. The hundreds of bees multiplied into thousands as they poured out of Richard's hand like jetting water from a hose. He momentarily feared that this was going to somehow be the end of them, that he'd just dissolve into bees.

"Stop!" Richard half-grunted, half-shouted, and to his great relief bees ceased to burst forth from his hands. The insects still buzzed around the bathrooms, crawling over the tile walls and bumbling over the urinals.

He took a deep breath and flexed his hand again. Bees, he thought simply, and hundreds again started to pour from his palm. Stop, he commanded, and no more bees. A few more toggles and Richard was confident that he had gotten the hang of it.

Each new plasmid he injected bumped and bungled its way around his body, ricocheting though his brain and blood and viscera simultaneously. A man who was not inherently fortified with ADAM would be knocked off his feet, but things being what they were, Richard still felt very winded once he was done.

Once he caught his breath, he extended his arm and thought of ice. A blast of frigid air shot from his palm and plastered the side of a stall with frost. Fire, but only a little. Warmth spread from fingertips and melted the frost, leaving a puddle for some poor bastard to come mop up.

Don't get your head in the clouds, Richard reminded himself as he left the bathroom. This isn't a daily thing. An emergency. But the seductive siren song of godlike power was already eroding his admittedly non-granite willpower.

Why even bother explaining myself, Richard suddenly thought as he hurried to Doctor Ashland's office. Tell him he's doing the surgery, don't ask-

Stop. We aren't an animal, I mean…I'm not an animal. I'm still in charge here, and I'm going to try to explain it. And if that doesn't work? A tiny arc of electricity jumped from his fingers on both hands.

Doctor Ashland's office was located in a larger complex of surgeons and other specialists. Several patients were patiently waiting their turns, but Richard was going to be particularly rude and just skip right to the front. The pert brunette behind the desk smiled politely at him. "Do you have an appointment?"

A blob of fuchsia goo rocketed out of his hand and struck her on the face. "Yes," Richard answered and walked past reception, leaving behind him the brunette to hollowly echo his words and the other patients to gasp in surprise.

No bullshitting, no time wasting, oh yes, I could get used to this, Richard churlishly thought while striding down the hall. He flung the door open and sighed in irritation at the middle-ages woman with a small but very noticeable goiter. Her and Doctor Ashland swiveled their heads around at his entry.

"Get out," Richard shortly informed the woman. She didn't move immediately, so Richard grabbed the edge of the large oak desk and effortlessly flipped it over against the wall. The desk hadn't even shuddered to a stop before the woman fled. Doctor Ashland stood to go as well, but Richard shook his head and slammed the door shut.

"I em, I assume this is going to have something to do with your wedding that went awry," Doctor Ashland nervously ventured and took a step backwards.

"Yes. You're going to give her the same surgery you gave me. As soon as possible. So, go get your surgical outfit on and get your nurses and whatever else you need-"

"I can't!" Doctor Ashland protested. "Believe me, I'd love to keep doing this procedure, I was making money hand over fist, but Fontaine, he's got a stranglehold on the slugs, can't get my hands on one."

Richard derisively snorted. "I'll get one then, don't you worry about that. Get ready to do the surgery. Now. I'll get the damn thing before you know it."

"It's not just that," Doctor Ashland continued and glanced at his desk, no doubt considering what Richard could do to him if displeased enough. "She got set on fire and from what I garnered from the newspaper article pretty badly. You can't really operate on someone in that condition, she's not stable-"

"Or what? She'll die?" A misty frost involuntarily leaked from Richard's hand and he had to consciously think to control it. "She's going to die anyway!"

"Unlikely!" Doctor Ashland replied. "I haven't seen her charts, but I know they are doing some excellent ADAM therapy and-"

"That's not good enough!" Richard shouted and a bolt of ice hurtled out of his hand and exploded into fine, powdery snow on the carpet. "You just need to keep her alive long enough to put the slug in!"

"It's not that easy-"

"That's not my problem!" Richard yelled again, trying to balance his urgency with the control needed to not turn into his own meteorological event. "I'm not going to watch her turn into one of those…freaks that'll do anything for a spoonful of ADAM!"

"She might not survive surgery!" Doctor Ashland stressed again, sweat starting to glisten on his forehead.

"Then neither will you!"

"Threatening me isn't going to help!" Doctor Ashland wiped his brow. "You can't expect me to perform surgery with a gun to my head!"

"I don't need a gun!" Richard yelled at him, deeply irritated with his pushback. "This is happening!"

"I cannot guarantee survival! No doctor can, regardless of the circumstance!"

Richard restrained himself from grabbing the doctor around the throat and throttling him until he agreed. Instead he gritted his teeth and tried to think. These bastards, I know what they want. "I'll pay you double, no, triple if she lives and nothing if she dies."

Doctor Ashland noticeably relaxed. "Now that's more like it! And something extra to buy a new desk."

"Fine." Richard would have liked to encase the greedy doctor in ice. Perhaps later. "Go get ready now. I will deal with Fontaine myself."