Freak - A Dark Medical Romance

“Bring him over here,” I say. There’s a treatment table right next to the ring. I’ve been called out here for all sorts of injuries over the last few months. This guy barely has a boo boo. There’s a smear of chalk on his leg, and another on his temple. It’s not clear which made him squeal.

“Did she get you in the head?”

“Nossir, Doctor Ares,” he mumbles, his eyes on the floor. He seems more angry at himself for being tagged than anything serious. “She rubbed it in my face.”

Ken snorts. I shake my head. Typical Mary. It’s never enough for her to win. She has to make a point of it.

“You’re alright. Sit the next couple rounds out.”

Another young agent drops into the ring with Mary. These trials are something of a ritual around here to keep the agents sharp. She faces three rounds of various levels of opponents. Rookies first, testing their mettle, then experienced agents, and then we’ll have one or two of the top tier operatives do their best to thrash her into submission. She’s doing well so far, but it’s almost inevitable that she’s going to lose this. Nobody can fight their way through a dozen people and keep winning. That’s part of the lesson: to teach an agent that no matter how good they are, there’s always someone more dangerous coming along.

“FUCK! GET HER! GRAB HER!”

A cacophony of shouting makes both Ken and me whip around.

This place is brutal and harsh, but there’s not often outright chaos like this. Every recruit and agent is locked down by a dozen other higher ranked officers, each of whom are tasked with the job of keeping order. I’ve seen plenty go down in the Pit, but I’ve never seen a sight like the one unfolding before my eyes right now.

There’s a containment area to the east, the door of which has just slammed open. A small blonde female comes blazing across the floor, followed in hot pursuit by three guys twice her size. A fourth one is behind them, holding a bleeding wrist.

The girl comes dashing up the stairs, planning on using the walkway we’re standing on to escape. There’s a door at the far end which leads out onto an open area. Not exactly an escape route, but I can see her thinking. Her eyes are locked on it as she blazes past me and runs full tilt into Ken who grabs her with both hands and does his best to wrestle her into submission.

I experience a flash of recognition, but my medical training makes me prioritize the bleeding man. I know him well. Trent. He’s a team leader. High ranking agent. Hard as nails, but right now he looks pale and pissed. On quick examination, it’s obvious the gash just barely missed the artery. He’s going to need stitches. In the meantime, I pack and bandage the wound to stop the bleeding, wrapping bandaging tight around his muscled forearm. Just as well I had this med kit with me. The scuffles in the Pit are turning out to be less dangerous than the main floor.

“She has a knife,” he growls. “She’s not supposed to have access to weapons, but she has a fucking knife.”

“Go easy!” Ken booms. Now he’s caught her, the first two agents have taken her from him and pinned her down on the ground. It’s an almost comical sight, the discrepancy in size. She has no chance against them, and they’re being rough as hell with her, pushing her hard against the floor. Ken’s not the kind of guy to stand there and watch a girl get her ass kicked, even if she does deserve it.

Suddenly there’s another shout. An arc of blood shoots across the floor. A second man has been wounded. The girl is still on the ground, her hands pinned behind her back and she’s still managing to do damage. As her second victim staggers back cursing, I move to him to staunch the bleeding which is coming from his cheek. There’s a nasty gash which could also be a whole lot worse. It’s stopped just shy of going all the way through.

Ken gets around the back of her and slips some cuffs onto her wrists.

“She’s bleeding, Tom,” Ken calls me over.

I get over to the girl and see that there’s blood coming from the corner of her mouth. I’m not entirely sure it’s hers. It’s smeared across her chin and cheek. She looks like an angry little animal, pale and snarling beneath my brother’s big frame.

This is the first proper look I have gotten of her and that spark of recognition is quickly realized. This is the girl who was in my exam room a few weeks ago. Electra. I’ve thought about her periodically since then, but have heard nothing further. The Head didn’t get back in touch with me, predictably.