I had never treated a patient who was one of the Manus before.
His name was Jerry Wilson.
In fact, I had never had the opportunity to.
You see, I met him on my first day at the Laplace Rehabilitation Center.
From submitting my application to my first day at the center,
the process had been remarkably fast.
I remember the night before I started, I was too anxious and excited to sleep.
On one hand, I was thrilled to become an attending physician at the rehabilitation
center, a pinnacle in the career of anyone in psychiatry.
On the other hand, I understood that when a massive institution suddenly speeds up
its administrative processes ...
... it means they are facing some urgent issues—a situation that cannot be delayed.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Oxygen saturation's critically low, heart rate's plummeting, pupils are dilated ... Patient Wilson's fallen into a coma.
We were rushing Jerry Wilson through the halls on a gurney. It was a race against time.
Sweat gathered on our brows, but there was no time to stop and wipe them.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: His heart and lungs are failing!
Dorothea: Get him to the OR! We need an ECMO machine! Get it over here, quickly!
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Fisher! Fisher?! Damn it, where is he? We need that ECMO machine!
Our shouts echoed through the corridor, but no response came.
Fisher was nowhere to be found.
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: Fisher's in the washroom. I'll go grab the machine!
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Damn it! Do we have to get him diapers or something?
The situation was beyond urgent.
The number of patients under the effects of the Storm Syndrome was overwhelming. Most of them were arcanists employed by the Foundation, and a few were ordinary humans suffering severe neurosis as a result of intense mental stimulation.
Some swallowed razor blades, some smashed their foreheads into bloody messes. Many had bowel obstructions from shoving things down their throats and ended up vomiting their own waste.
Some well-meaning Foundation members had dragged their colleagues into safe confinement, only to have their legs broken by them.
Diamonds, triangles, hexagons ... if there was one commonality in these afflictions, it was the delirium in their mutterings.
I had just taken over as the attending physician at sunrise, and by the time I regained my senses, the sun was rising once again.
It was then that I understood why someone who wasn't even a psychiatrist, a girl oscillating between psych wards and ORs, was given this position.
They weren't lacking any psychiatric researchers or professional medical staff, nor did they need another skilled surgeon.
What they needed was a general practitioner, someone capable of bridging the gap between both fields.
I've come to see myself as a "wall mender," someone who seals the cracks the "Storm" leaves behind.
???: Is this the machine? I brought it over.
A young girl pushed the machine over to us.
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: Ah, thank you! Well done, girl!
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: But I'm afraid I don't have a free hand to push it. Could you help us get it into the OR?
???: Okay.
So she pushed the cart. Her small frame was totally dwarfed by the size of the machine.
"How absurd," I thought. "Why should a child do such a job, no matter how understaffed we are?" Of course, I didn't know the whole story back then.
But if I could turn back time. I mean, go back into the past ...
I would stop that child from ever joining us.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Heart rate at 65 bpm. Patient's vitals are stabilizing.
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: No, no, wait!
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: It's accelerating!
Jerry Wilson: Ugh ... Agh!
The ECMO machine had been keeping his blood circulating, giving him a fighting chance.
But at that moment, his blood began to boil like molten lava.
It was an impending "volcanic eruption."
Dorothea: Shut it down! Shut it down!!
But the others were slow to respond, perhaps due to their exhaustion.
As two staff members fiddled with their gloves, fear shining in their pupils,
and another dropped her scalpel,
the child moved swiftly. She obeyed my command with calm precision.
???: Okay.
*ding*
Dorothea: Watch out!
???: ...!
Blood spurted from the ruptured machine, spraying the walls and ceiling,
and the clothes and face of the child.
Dorothea: Blood transfusion! Get a new machine in here! Now!
...
As we undertook the surgery, she stood silently by, awaiting instruction—whether from me or anyone else.
Despite the blood splattered on her face, she remained unperturbed.
In fact, she was the calmest of us all.
Two months later
Dorothea: Jerry Wilson?
He was curled up, unmoving in his bed.
Dorothea: This is the third time the alcohol disinfectant has gone missing.
Dorothea: I don't believe we have any germaphobes in the rehabilitation center. Do let me know if you see anything, alright?
He remained silent.
Dorothea: Well then, I suppose I'll seek help elsewhere. Thank you for your ... cooperation, Mr. Wilson.
I closed my notebook and prepared to shut the door.
Jerry Wilson: Wait, wait.
Jerry Wilson: Could you reduce the dose of my anesthetic?
A trembling hand emerged from under the covers, pointing to the IV drip.
Dorothea: It's a fixed dose, I'm afraid. Any less, and your emotions will disturb you again.
Jerry Wilson: But I want to dream on my own. I want to see my mother.
Dorothea: I'm sorry.
Every medical professional must learn to refuse their patients. It's for their own safety.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: What, so you didn't reprimand him or prepare to take any enforcement measures?
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Tut tut, Dorothea. Which hospital taught you to treat your patients like pets?
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Empathy is a tool that should rarely be used by a medical professional.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: I'm starting to think that you're an undercover arcanist, desperate to take care of your fellow man, rather than a human doctor.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Maybe I should do a little blood test and see if there's any arcanum in you, huh?
Dorothea: Oh, great! I'll add "arcane blood test" to my list of things to do. It's not like I already have enough to deal with!
Setting aside the jokes, I returned to the point.
Dorothea: Anyway, I'm just telling you to follow my lead.
Dorothea: If there's one thing I've learned during my time here, it's that we take away the power of these psychiatric patients not to punish them, but to prevent them from punishing themselves.
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: And how do you propose we stop Jerry from chugging all the disinfectant in this place? Or will we just pump his stomach over and over again?
Dorothea: No. I've replaced all the disinfectants in this corridor with an alternative, throat-burning variant.
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: Pfft ...
Rehab Center Staff Member Will: Hahaha! You really know how to think outside the box, don't you?
At that moment, I noticed the child coming out of the sickroom, busily adjusting the sleepwalking machine.
I finally asked the question I'd been aching to ask.
Dorothea: What on earth did that poor child do to end up as a volunteer in a place like this?
They were silent for a moment, then shrugged.
It seems there was no real interest in the answer.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: She's not a volunteer; she's a Mesmer.
"She's a Mesmer." "What kind of answer is that?" I thought.
Dorothea: Alright.
I brushed aside the topic, continuing our conversation on Laplace's logistics and the collaboration with the St. Pavlov Foundation.
But my mind was no longer fully present.
I mean, what does "She's a Mesmer" even mean?
I know the history of the Mesmer family, of course, and the contributions they've made to the fusion of arcanum and human science.
I know about their grandeur and pride, and the endless debates over their conspiracy theories
and scientific ethics, and I know about their secrecy.
But what does any of that have to do with a child? And with ...
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Hello? Dorothea? Dorothea!
Dorothea: Huh?!
My mind had totally wandered off.
Rehab Center Staff Member Danny: Think we lost you for a moment there. Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, we're off. See you on Thursday.
Dorothea: See you then.
Dorothea: ...
With a wave, they disappeared through the doorway.
I sank into the chair in the corridor.
If something went wrong, it was usually during the rehab center's night shift.
But still, I enjoyed these moments.
It was calm—tranquil, even.
There were no patients wandering the halls, only their steady breathing as they slept,
and the humming and occasional beeping of the machines.
The receptionist, who usually wore a stern expression during the day, looked calm and soft at night.
I could see her feet from beneath the desk. Her socks had little bears on them.
Patient: I stepped into that same river three times.
Dorothea: ...
Mr. Cobb was mumbling in his sleep again.
Patient Cobb: The first time, the shepherd had left his flock, and the farmer had quit his hoein', too.
Patient Cobb: Daddy grabbed his shovel, and we both went out on horseback to find the river.
Patient Cobb: Old Cobb said we'd never go wantin' ever again.
Patient Cobb: He said that the trains roared—that not even the devil could take away our fortune.
Patient Cobb: But I asked him—I asked my dad, see—I asked him, "Where did my little dog go?"
Before I could realize what happened, my eyes had already closed.
I didn't notice that someone was standing in front of me.
Mesmer Jr.: Dr. Dorothea ...
Dorothea: Huh?
Dorothea: Child, do you need help with something?
Mesmer Jr.: According to Article 3 of the Laplace Rehabilitation Center's regulations concerning patient management, if a patient damages or steals medical equipment or medicine, they are to be transferred and confined within three days.
Mesmer Jr.: Mr. Jerry Wilson should be no exception. It's your duty as the attending physician to carry out this regulation.
She had heard our conversation.
Mesmer Jr.: These deranged arcanists are beyond reason, Dr. Dorothea. We need to deal with them rationally.
Mesmer Jr.: You're a human. You should understand this better than me.
Dorothea: Hm. I suppose you're right, Mesmer Jr.
Dorothea: You'd better go submit a report to the Laplace management committee.
She stepped back.
Mesmer Jr.: But ...
Mesmer Jr.: You could just follow the rules and avoid the penalty altogether.
Dorothea: I could, but I don't want to.
I kneeled down and looked her in the eye.
Mesmer Jr.: They're right. You're not like a human at all.
That comment was almost a whisper.
Laplace Nurse: Dr. Dorothea! What are you doing sitting out here?
The nurse hurried over.
I glanced at Mesmer Jr.
Mesmer Jr.: Sorry! It was my fault.
Laplace Nurse: Didn't you hear your pager?
Laplace Nurse: An SPDM student has developed new symptoms. We need you there immediately, Dr. Dorothea!
Mesmer Jr.: ...!
Mesmer Jr.: Jo ... Joseph ...
It seemed she knew this child.
Arcanist blood can have a subtle influence on the maturation of a child, often affecting their hormone levels and subsequently, their emotional state.
Most arcanist children unconsciously discover their arcane skills and will naturally start to use them.
But a small number of children develop severe physical and psychological issues. Their bodies and minds reject their own bloodline.
Dorothea: He's already showing serious compensatory reactions.
Dorothea: His body's drawing nutrients from his limbs to support what it considers vital organs. If things go on like this, his limbs will necrotize, and we'll have no choice but to amputate.
Joseph: cough Mesmer Jr. ...
His sudden awakening caught me off guard.
He gripped the girl's hand like a drowning man grabbing onto a floating piece of wood.
Joseph: C-Can you tell the doctor not to cut off my legs? Please cough I-I promise I'll never throw paper balls at you again.
Joseph: cough I swear ... I-I swear ... sob
She remained silent.
I removed Joseph's hand from hers to ensure he didn't hurt her.
Then I stroked his burning forehead.
Dorothea: Everything will be alright, Joseph. You'll keep your legs, I promise. Just get a good night's sleep, and you can take a little walk in the morning—wherever you want.
I signaled the nurse to bring the anesthetic mask.
Dorothea: Mesmer Jr., are you alright?
Again, she remained silent.
Mesmer Jr.: ...
She was trembling like a child who had just crawled out of an icy river.
Yes, a child. It suddenly struck me. She was no older than my sister when she still begged me to buy candy for her.
Her nails were dug deep into the palm of the hand that Joseph had grabbed. She was looking at the floor.
Dorothea: Listen, Junior, go outside and rest for a bit, okay? I'll take care of the surgery.
Mesmer Jr.: No. I'm staying. I promised him. I already promised him.
She hadn't spoken her promise aloud, but I understood what she meant.
Dorothea: Lia, let's begin.
I gave the nurse a nod.
...
The more cruel cases we witness, the stronger, yet more fragile, we become.
After I graduated and started working at the hospital, everyone around me said I was
becoming less human.
When my sister told me about her trivial school problems and tears streamed down
her face ...
I remembered the child whose eyes had been burned out by his parents' cigarettes,
praying I'd perform some magic to restore his sight.
But I could neither comfort nor save him.
Dorothea: Don't blame yourself, Junior. Whether you got the injection to him in time or not, it wouldn't have made any difference.
Mesmer Jr.: ...
Her eyes were on me, but I could tell she wasn't all there.
They were hollow, vacant.
Mesmer Jr.: Please step aside. I need to throw these into the medical waste bin.
Mesmer Jr.: According to the rules on the disposal of medical waste, these legs must be brought to the proper location.
She carried the blood-and-leg-filled bag to the end of the corridor.
As I washed the blood from my hands, I couldn't help but imagine Joseph running through the fields,
laughing and playing with his friends.
Eventually, the anesthesia wore off.
And the boy's heartbreaking cries wailed through the hospital.