Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG - Chapter 281

It was not a fast process. For every section of corrupted flesh that was excised and removed, another growth began. Most of my time was split, half of it spent beneath the operating table, using Blade of Woe’s ability to track our progress and call out new growth before it could metastasize and spread closer to vitals that would render removal impossible, the other half spent keeping the patient entrenched in his fantasy.

Minute-by-minute, the auric red mass illuminated by grew smaller.

The smallest splotch of red drew my attention, barely larger than a comma. “Fresh growth in the mediastinum, between the left lung and heart.”

Doctor Ansari clicked her tongue, the noise muted from behind her mask. I watched the new splotch, waiting for it to disappear. It didn’t.

I slid out from beneath the table. “Problem?”

“Do you have steady hands, Mr. Matthias?”

“Steady enough. Why?” I slid out from beneath the table, careful not to jostle anything with my movements as I emerged. The first thing that stood out was how exhausted Ansari looked. Beneath her beleaguered eyes, she gripped the scalpel tightly, the blooded razor trembling in the light. “Shit.”

“There’s a reason I went into general practice.” Ansari grimaced. “The damn tremors.”

God dammit. I quickly went to her bag, sifting through a countless number of bottles and tinctures, looking for the only thing I knew of that would help, sorting through an ocean of labels until I found what I was looking for “Propranolol, right?”

“Two tablets.” Ansari confirmed.

I forcefully twisted the childproof lid and shook two round pills into my hand, then tossed them into Ansari’s waiting open mouth. She grimaced while she chewed, then forcefully swallowed. Eyes closed, seemingly at war with herself, she paused before she spoke. “Did you learn from your studies how long it takes to work?”

“No.” I said quietly. “Guessing it’s not instant.”

Almost nothing was.

“Correct.” Ansari nodded. “I have an overactive metabolism, and chewing them helps. It will come on faster for me than the average person, but fast, in this case, is not nearly quick enough. Hold a hand out palm down if you would.”

I extended my right arm as instructed, my hand level and steady. She scrutinized it and sighed. “This is not fair to ask. Realistically…” she dropped her voice, glancing at the man on the table, “It may end badly. But there are no alternatives. If we wait, he will die. If I leave this to you, it at least alters that certainty to a possibility.”

My eyes were drawn to the man’s open chest cavity. The once generic blotch was a dark mass, around half the size of a grape. There was blood, so much blood it set my teeth on edge, sung to the dark vestiges in the depths of my mind. “Not sure that’s a great idea, doc.”

From the look on her face, she wasn’t either. “As I said. It is not fair to ask.”

I strapped on a cloth mask and pulled a fresh pair of nitrile gloves from a box and put them on, using the makeshift wash-basin and pumped an ample helping of sanitizing foam onto my gloved hands, washing as thoroughly as I could.

The scalpel felt solid in my hand. Natural. On some level it made sense. A knife was a knife, regardless of its purpose. “What now?” I asked.

Methodically, Doctor Ansari’s low voice walked me through the steps of several careful, complicated cuts. Initially, I was afraid. Scared shitless that I’d slip, or worse, that I’d want to slip. But as I followed her directions exactly, that fear slipped away. It felt like picking up an old habit. The motions, the movements and their purpose made sense to me in a way few things ever had. By the time the problem splotch was nearly gone I was breathing hard, more from the mental drain than anything else. I placed the last chunk of infected tissue in the biohazard bin, on top of what had already been harvested.

Where now?

Wordlessly, Ansari pulled my arm away and took the scalpel.

I blinked. “Is something wrong?”

Ansari shook her head. “The opposite. The imminent threat is removed, and my hands have steadied.”

Oh. Right.

/////

When it was over, I nearly sprinted out of the tent. It was small to begin with, and that feeling only intensified into full-blown claustrophobia with the thick scent of blood and the disquieting looks the doctor kept sending my way. A heavy weariness clung to me, which was, perhaps, why I didn’t realize the obvious.

Every person in the staging area immediately looked over as soon as the tent flaps opened. It tracked. We’d been in there for hours with no breaks, and while the joint group was no longer on the verge of a riot, they were all anxiously waiting for news.

Somehow, I managed my usual indifference, stuck my hands in my pockets and made the announcement. “It’ll be a long recovery. Our mutual friend isn’t out of the woods yet, but thanks to Dr. Ansari, the surgery was a success.”

There was a few cheers and some scattered applause, but more than anything, an almost tangible sense of relief. Without the slightest clue of what else to say, I awkwardly walked away, bee-lining to the nearby table and loading several slices of pizza onto a paper plate. As Charlotte had predicted, the court members had spread out some in my absence and appeared to be helping to keep things in order, which was good. Unfortunately, they glanced my way far more often than I’d like.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Good job, idiot. You drew too much attention. Again.

As if responding to my thoughts, a gravely voice spoke. “Julian seems to be under the impression you’re some kind of badass.” The Dusk Blade Knight said, holding up a wall a few yards away from the table.

“Julian is very generous.” I said between bites. “And possibly concussed. I’d check back with him after he’s recovered a little.”

“He told us all about how you lured the little bastards out and secured the combat area.”

Why is it so hard for some people to keep their mouths shut?

“Just basic strategy.”

“Basic or not, it was quick thinking.” Nathanial tapped his fingers, tattoos rolling with the motion. “Impressive. How’d the fight with the boss go down, anyway?”

Every single alarm bell went off in my head like a chorus. “Quickly.”

“Not to sound ungrateful, but from where I’m standing, it seems like he got the piss kicked out of him while you got out more or less unscathed. That a ‘strategy’ too?” Nathanial asked, an audible growl in his voice.

Ah. So you’re not just the surly obstructionist.

It was an elegant trap. Obvious. But elegant.

I gave Nathanial another once over as I processed the new information. He was on edge, but not nearly as much as he was pretending to be. Nathanial didn’t actually give a shit how much of a beating Julian took. The intention was to make me think he did, panic that my standing with the court might be called into question, and scramble to correct him, detailing exactly what happened in the boss room.

Either he was testing my ability to keep Julian’s secrets, or he was fishing for information.

was confident it was the latter. Nathanial had seen glimpses of Julian’s abilities, aftermaths, results with no explanation. But like me, he had no idea how it worked.

I glared at him defensively. “It was a single-target slug fest. I peppered it with arrows from a distance while our resident prince fought it in melee and kept its attention. Of course he’d take more hits than me.”

“Anything unusual happen?” Nathanial prompted.

“Other than it being the tentacle monster version of pandora’s box instead of an ant?” I shrugged. “Not really. It attacked us. We hit it with sharp things until it died.”

Nathanial snorted. “You’re not much of a storyteller.”

“Is that all?” I asked, “Because I really should go check in with Nick.”

The older man stretched, giving me one last scowl. He didn’t want to drop it—guys like him rarely did—but I’d given him no reason to be suspicious, and he was smart enough to know this wasn’t the time or place to push his luck.

“Good work today.” He finally said and stalked away.

You too gramps.

/////

The rest of the already waning evening was lost in a flurry of activity. Tyler’s meeting with the tower’s administration was a begrudging success, and a team of Users from the tower arrived to seal off the elevator exit behind us. They seemed to take the task a little too easily in stride, which left me wondering when and why, exactly, they’d closed off a section of the tower before.

Everyone else on the floor was evaluated, and no one showed any signs of infection.

A notification popped not long after I left the tower region in the passenger seat of Nick’s Charger. Every part of me wanted to talk to Nick about Julian’s one-shot, but my friend didn’t have much of a poker face and he spent more time with the prince than I did, so it more made sense to keep it to myself for now. He seemed withdrawn—probably just worn out—so I pulled up my messages as we drove in silence.

There were a few updates I’d missed from Kinsley, a message from Miles, and a couple from my mother. But the one I least expected sat clearly at the top.

I leaned my head back on the headrest and groaned.

“What?” Nick asked.

“I might have fucked up.”

“How bad is it?”

“Two out of ten.” I thought about it. The most questionable thing I’d done was the way I’d used . From Ansari’s perspective it looked like I’d spoken to a dying man in drastic pain and somehow persuaded him to be unreasonably calm. Dodgy perhaps, but not damning.

She hadn’t fully answered my question. That could have been bait, testing to see if I pushed for more info, but my title didn’t trigger, meaning it probably wasn’t.

“Three out of ten.” I amended unhappily. “Or she’s just being vague and we’re fine. Hard to tell.”

“Need help?” Nick asked.

“No. Well, probably not. If Ansari comes to you and asks about a certain standardized testing business—”

“Deny it.” Nick filled in automatically, then paused, puzzled.

“Actually, just corroborate.” I corrected him wryly.

“Why, exactly, would the adventurer’s guild doctor be asking about that?” He turned to look at me, aghast. “More importantly, you want me to tell the truth?”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. Then noticed for the first time where we were. “Uh, Nick. You missed a turn.” Now that I was paying attention, he looked straight-up nauseous.

“You forgot.” Nick grimaced. “Guess it makes sense with everything going on.”

Forgot what?

The answer came to me slower than I would have liked, as did the reason Nick looked so uncomfortable. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s today, huh?”

“If she’s there, we just give our condolences, make sure she’s settled, give her some stuff and tips on where to go and what to do during the transposition, then we leave.” Nick said, reassuring himself as much as me. “Quick and easy.”

“And if she’s the monster Jinny said she was?”

“Jinny never called her a monster.” Nick argued.

She didn’t have to.

Time gets away from you, one way or another. Nick would have gone the day she died if he wasn’t kidnapped, imminent transposition be damned. But the transposition happened, then the clash with the feds, then power-struggle after power-struggle. After we’d made the deal with Hastur, Nick tried to contact the mother multiple times through messages and voice calls. The lack of response meant one of two things. The woman was either dead or ignoring us.

Either way, we’d know before the night was over.