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Eldritch Horror? No, I'm A Doctor
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Ren sneezed violently inside his plague doctor mask.
The moisture immediately pooled against his face, trapped by the leather and fabric. Warm. Wet. Disgusting.
"Fuck," he muttered, pulling off the mask to wipe his face with a handkerchief. "Someone must be badmouthing me."
Yeah. God complex. Typical of Ren Hector.
"Excuse me?"
You sneeze once and immediately assume people are talking about you. That's peak narcissism. Very on brand.
"It's a saying, you idiot. When you sneeze, it means someone's talking about you."
That's superstition. You're a doctor. You know sneezes are caused by nasal irritation, not cosmic gossip.
"It's a figure of speech."
It's delusion.
"Says the disembodied voice in my head that spams dick jokes during surgery."
That was one time.
"It was an entire forty-five minute procedure."
And I stand by every emoticon. They were art.
"They were harassment."
Artistic harassment.
Ren pulled his mask back on, adjusting it until it sat comfortably. The clinic was quiet. Too quiet. He glanced around the empty waiting room, the unused examination table, the spotless surgical tools hanging in their places.
"You know," he said, walking over to the reception desk where the plague doctor puppet sat motionless, "there haven't been any customers for like five days now."
Customers? They're called patients, Ren. You're not running a bakery.
"Patients, customers, same thing. People who give me money in exchange for services."
That's definitely the attitude that inspires medical trust.
"The point is, business is slow. Five days without a single person walking through that door. That's unusual. Even for a clinic in the industrial district."
Maybe word got out about the chainsaw.
"The chainsaw is an excellent medical tool."
For surgery or for horror movies?
"Both. Efficiency is efficiency."
Ren walked to the window and looked out at the street. There were more people than usual. Civilians walking past, going about their business. A few were window shopping at the closed factory across the street. Others were just strolling, hands in pockets, looking casual.
Too casual.
Something's off.
He watched a man in a grey jacket pause near a streetlight, glance at the clinic, then continue walking. Another person, a woman in a dark coat, did the same thing thirty seconds later.
"We're being watched," Ren said quietly.
Paranoia. Another classic Ren Hector trait.
"I'm serious. Look at them. They're pretending to be civilians, but their movement patterns are wrong. Too deliberate. Too aware of their surroundings."
Or maybe you're just projecting because you're bored.
"I'm not bored. I'm observant."
You're bored AND paranoid. A dangerous combination.
"Shut up."
Make me.
"I will literally change my class to veterinarian right now."
...You wouldn't dare.
"Try me."
Fine. You win this round. But only because I don't want to be associated with animal medicine.
Ren smirked behind his mask.
The door handle rattled.
Both Ren and the System went quiet.
The door swung open, and a voice called out from the street.
"There's a patient! Doctor! We need help!"
A massive figure appeared in the doorway. Seven feet tall, shoulders so broad they barely fit through the frame. The man was huge, built like a wrestler, with a face that looked carved from stone.
Ren straightened, professional instinct kicking in immediately. "What's the emergency?"
The man took one step forward, his shoulders scraping the doorframe.
Then someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him backward with surprising force.
"Sorry! My friend's drunk and sprouting bullshit again! So sorry for the disturbance!"
The massive man stumbled backward, and whoever had grabbed him pulled him completely out of view. Footsteps retreated rapidly down the street.
The door swung shut.
Ren stood there, staring at the empty doorway.
Who the fuck gets drunk at nine in the morning?
Maybe he works night shift.
"That's not the point."
Then what is the point?
"The point is something weird just happened."
You mean weirder than performing genital surgery on a monster with a chainsaw?
"Different kind of weird."
Sure. Totally different. One's surgical weird, one's drunk-guy-at-9am weird. Completely different categories.
"Fuck you."
The feeling's mutual.
.
.
.
Half a block away, in an alley between two abandoned warehouses, Brother Dmitri straightened his jacket and turned to face the military officer who had teleported them both away from the clinic.
Lieutenant Marcus Veil stood with his hand already on his sidearm. Special Forces, A rank hunter, short range teleportation specialist. His face was set in an expression of pure disgust.
"You fucking cockroach," Marcus spat.
Dmitri's calm expression didn't change. His tentacles burst through his disguise instantly, black appendages spreading like spider legs.
Marcus didn't bother replying. He drew his pistol and fired three shots, all center mass.
The bullets hit. Blood sprayed. And then the wounds closed, flesh rippling as it regenerated, pushing the bullets back out where they clattered to the ground.
Marcus teleported behind Dmitri, enchanted combat knife already swinging. The blade glowed blue and cut deep into Dmitri's shoulder, slicing through muscle and bone.
Dmitri spun faster than humanly possible. His tentacles lashed out. One wrapped around Marcus's arm, the tiny mouth at its tip biting down hard, tearing flesh.
Marcus screamed and teleported again.
They reappeared in the sewage system. Standard military protocol: keep civilian casualties at zero.
The moment they materialized, Marcus kicked off the tunnel wall and created distance. Blood dripped from his wounded arm.
Dmitri didn't speak. He simply attacked.
Three tentacles struck from different angles. Marcus teleported, dodging two, but the third grazed his shoulder, tearing through his uniform.
Marcus reappeared behind Dmitri and slashed with his knife. The blade severed one tentacle completely. Black blood sprayed across the concrete walls.
Dmitri spun and struck with his remaining tentacles. Two of them caught Marcus across the chest, the mouths biting through fabric and into flesh.
Marcus teleported desperately, reappearing ten meters away. His chest was bleeding, his uniform shredded.
Dmitri advanced slowly, his regeneration already growing a new tentacle to replace the one he'd lost.
Marcus threw his knife. The blade flew straight and true, embedding itself in Dmitri's throat.
Dmitri reached up, pulled the knife out, and dropped it. The wound in his throat closed within seconds.
Marcus teleported forward, retrieved his knife, and slashed across Dmitri's face. The blade cut from temple to jaw, splitting flesh and exposing bone.
Dmitri's remaining tentacles all struck at once.
Marcus teleported, but not fast enough. One tentacle caught him across the left side of his face. The mouth bit down on his eye.
Marcus screamed, a sound of pure agony. He teleported backward, clutching his ruined face. Blood poured between his fingers.
His remaining eye was wild with pain. His teleportation skill had a cooldown. He was trapped.
Dmitri walked forward, his face already regenerating from the knife slash. His tentacles spread wide, ready for the kill.
He raised them.
And then the entire tunnel exploded with light.
Brigadier General Anton Krause dropped from a maintenance shaft above, landing between them with enough force to crack the concrete. The pressure radiating from him was immense, the unmistakable aura of an S-rank hunter.
"Lieutenant, fall back," Anton ordered.
Marcus stumbled backward, barely able to stand.
Dmitri's expression shifted from confidence to wariness.
Anton didn't speak. He simply activated his skill.
"Solar Wrath."
The tunnel filled with blinding white light and heat that made the air scream. The attack slammed into Dmitri with the force of a collapsing star.
Dmitri raised his tentacles defensively, but the attack burned through them like paper. His flesh charred and blackened. His skin bubbled and peeled. One arm completely disintegrated.
He staggered backward, half his body burned, his regeneration struggling to keep up.
But he was still alive.
Dmitri grabbed a maintenance ladder with his remaining hand and pulled himself toward a side tunnel.
"The Mother... will consume you all..." he rasped, black blood pouring from his mouth.
He disappeared into the darkness.
Anton turned to Marcus, who had collapsed against the wall.
"Medical team is two minutes out. You followed protocol."
Marcus's remaining eye closed, and consciousness left him.
Anton looked up at the ceiling, toward the street above.
"Dispatch, upgrade surveillance on the doctor's clinic to S rank protocols. These cultist cockroaches are planning something, and it involves our Phenomenon."
.
.
.
Back in the clinic, Ren sat at the reception desk with a cup of instant noodles, slurping down the cheap sodium-filled broth.
This is the good life. No customers. No emergencies. Just me and my—
The entire building shook violently.
The cup tipped forward. Ren tried to catch it, but the sudden movement made him inhale instead of swallow.
A noodle went straight down his windpipe.
Ren's hands flew to his throat as his airway closed. His vision blurred. His lungs screamed for air.
Four tentacles burst from his back. One dove into his mouth, grabbed the lodged noodle, and yanked it out.
Ren gasped, coughing and wheezing.
"FUCK!" he shouted. "This place is almost becoming a real haunted clinic! I'm going to die from a fucking noodle!"
'Horror doctor chokes to death on instant ramen.' Great obituary.
"Shut up!"
'Here lies Ren Hector, killed by carbs.'
"I'm going to kill you."
With what? Your tentacles? The same ones that just saved you?
"I WILL FIND A WAY."
Sure. Right after you finish crying about nearly dying to food.
"Your mom nearly died to food."
I don't have a mom. I'm a System.
"Then your creator's mom."
That doesn't even make sense.
"Neither do you, but here we are."
'Your mom' jokes. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel.
"I'm stressed!"
From a noodle?
"FROM WHATEVER JUST MADE THE BUILDING SHAKE!"
Ren stood up, looking around. Nothing was broken. No cracks. Just a rumble that had passed through the area.
"What the hell was that?"
Probably a gas explosion.
"A gas explosion?"
Old infrastructure. Happens all the time.
Ren frowned. "That didn't feel like a gas explosion."
"Something weird is happening. No customers for five days. People watching the clinic. The drunk guy at 9am. And now an explosion right beneath us?"
Ren sat back down, picking up what remained of his noodles.
"Fucking city," he muttered. "This place might be more unsafe than it looks. Some kind of gas explosion or infrastructure failure."
Or you're just unlucky.
"That too."
At least you admit it.
"Fuck off."
Make me.
"Veterinarian."
...Truce?
"Truce."
Silence for a moment.
Then Ren spoke quieter.
"Something's coming, isn't it?"
Yeah. Probably.
"Great. Just what I needed."
Look on the bright side.
"What bright side?"
At least you didn't die from a noodle.
"Fucking piece of shit"