DISCLAIMER
Naz* is a revolting and stupid ideology that has no place in the world, and I do not condone or support it or any forms of discrimination and violence against people. This is a work of fiction based off another work of fiction.
"I can save her...
I can still save her..."
His voice trembled under his breath and his hands trembled over his patients broken body. A monitor above her displayed her vital signs, all barely registering, giving out alarms he was trying all too hard to silence. But the gaping wounds in her head and chest continued to leak the color and life from the young woman, despite the countless pairs of forceps and wads of gauze and stitches he had placed.
He was losing her.
He never just lost patients. And if he did, he never thought twice about it. He had seen scores of men bleed out in his time. On many occasions he had seen to it personally that they did.
But this was never supposed to happen, not to her of all people. The Hellsing assault had taken her unit by surprise and she had gotten the worst of it.
That was just like her, he had thought, to stand up and get herself hurt. Foolish and stubborn. And that attitude had endeajred her to the doctor from the time she first came by his office. She brought her wry smiles and ingratiating nuances into his life and he, though he would never let it on, appreciated her company deeply.
There was no smile on her pallid face now. Her skin was streaked with blood and ash and disturbingly cold as he adjusted her thin form.
He was losing her.
And there was nothing he could do. Nothing to save her life now.
He froze for a moment before rushing to a storage locker.
But he could still save HER.
He brought a case to the operating table and unlatched it. Inside, nestled in a foam insert, lay a glass vial with a handwritten label:
"F.R.E.A.K."
It was experimental and unpredictable. He had seen it drive men mad, tear them apart, and make them into monsters. He had seen men beg for a true death to free them from the unlife it forced upon them.
He pierced the vial with a syringe and with it extracted the chip suspended in the liquid.
It wasn't ALWAYS a failure. About 50% of supernaturally gifted F.R.E.A.K. candidates survived.
For her, he would take that chance.
Gritting his teeth, he plunged the needle into her sternum and deployed the chip.
He had expected the flatline after the chip rooted into her heart, but he couldn't have been ready for the way his mind and body froze and went cold. When he could move again, he flung the syringe into a corner of the room, shaking. He stumbled to the screeching monitor and raised a clumsy hand to shut it off. Steadying himself, he turned towards the woman and gently removed the sensors from her body.
They were useless for her now. Her existence would not include the signs of life that had been floundering and fading minutes ago. But she wouldn't die. Cold, hungry, and transformed, she would carry on. So long as she was one of the lucky 50% success stories.
But whether she awoke or not, she didn't deserve to be in this state. He gently stroked her cheek and pushed her loose hair from her face. Under the grime and clotting wounds he still found her beautiful.
With as much care as he knew, he cleaned her skin and hair and closed her wounds. Remarkably deft, he placed every piece of her precious body back together and joined it with precise stitching. He changed her gown and blankets and left her, his beautiful, tragic, broken bird, nestled in a field of white.
He couldn't know exactly when she would awake, if she did. And even after the metamorphosis began, she wouldn't be guaranteed to complete it. But he had done all he could for now except wait.
As the shock wore off, he began to weep, bitterly and silently at first, until he wailed and clung to her, his body trembling and heaving. Soon he was exhausted and sore. His thin form was wracked with the pain of grief and anxiety. But she might not be lost. He had to hold on to that.
He stood, breathing deeply and shakily, and began to log the events of her procedure. After all, he was still a scientist, and there was research to be done.
Through he night he worked, never tiring, watching over her. He waiting to see the first stirring of her awakening, holding out hope for the success of his experiment and of her being.
And like so many others, her genesis began with a scream.