Post by John Dark on Mar 21, 2016 18:36:55 GMT
He leaned against the sink with a proportionate amount of weight against it. His face was covered in a mixture of water and sweat, as the entire building was seemingly abuzz with some kind of ultra loud static that nobody could hear, but him. The truth was, the static was just the collective of voices from around the city block he was in, and he could hear all of them at once as if they were all in his head. It was worse during the full moon. It always was. For the longest time now, he had to deal with these senses around this time with great irritation. Although he found the certain fragrances were capable of masking other smells, the con to it was that particular smell would give him a headache, and make him nauseated over time. It was the cigarettes that did it the worst, and yet he continued to smoke them, one after another, like a machine gun. They couldn’t kill him. Not anymore. However, he couldn’t smoke. Not right now. It was surgery today, and he had to get ready.
A splash of cold water hit his face, and he felt every droplet as they touched his skin. A newfound feeling that accompanied this disease. He could feel the sanitary cleanliness of the clinic sink, but also could tell where the industrial strength chemicals still clung and needed washing. He could smell the remnant cleaning from a week ago, and cringed at the nostril-splitting aroma he will meet the next day. Cleaning day was the worst on his senses.
John pulled back from the sink and turned his head and went to open the bathroom door. He opened the door and faced the hallway, that leads to surgery. He was paged twice, and the patient should have been prepped by then. One fitted, and sterilized for surgery, he looked at the patient, a young girl, and could hear her heart beating ever-so-slowly. There had been a shootout near her apartment and shrapnel from the bullet had entered from her side. Quietly, as the world around Dr. John Dark began to slow, he went to work.
In what should have been a twelve-hour surgery, he did in twelve. The self-control over the situation and the heightened senses did their job in helping him treat the wound with minimal blood loss, and with no complications. The child was sent to recovery soon after, and Dark left well in advance of her departure to recovery. He did not acknowledge the parents, not did he alert them of his presence. The nurses could do a better job in telling them anything, and John had to make sure he made it home. He was out of the hospital as the night began to blanket the skies above. ”Shit!” he muttered to himself as he raced down several blocks, cursing himself for losing track of time. He knew he had set the alarms, but for whatever reason, they never went off. Dark was nearly home when he felt it: the first bone break. It was his leg, at first, followed by another. Slowly, John carried himself into an alley, as he felt the changes begin.
His body’s temperature by this point was near boiling point. He should be dead right now from that alone, not counting how his vocal chords were now shredded, his internal organs were failing him, and his mind is fried by this point. However, instead of dying, his body continues to go through extraordinary pain. His bones began to break, and his muscles began to tear before they began reshaping and reforming into something larger, something more powerful. Hair began to shoot out through John’s body, which began to rip through his doctor clothes on the ground. At last, laying where the doctor once laid, was now a massive beast, a creature the size of a lion, but in the shape of a wolf. As it began to approach the exit of the alley, it let out a monstrous howl, which spread across downtown Bronx.
A splash of cold water hit his face, and he felt every droplet as they touched his skin. A newfound feeling that accompanied this disease. He could feel the sanitary cleanliness of the clinic sink, but also could tell where the industrial strength chemicals still clung and needed washing. He could smell the remnant cleaning from a week ago, and cringed at the nostril-splitting aroma he will meet the next day. Cleaning day was the worst on his senses.
John pulled back from the sink and turned his head and went to open the bathroom door. He opened the door and faced the hallway, that leads to surgery. He was paged twice, and the patient should have been prepped by then. One fitted, and sterilized for surgery, he looked at the patient, a young girl, and could hear her heart beating ever-so-slowly. There had been a shootout near her apartment and shrapnel from the bullet had entered from her side. Quietly, as the world around Dr. John Dark began to slow, he went to work.
In what should have been a twelve-hour surgery, he did in twelve. The self-control over the situation and the heightened senses did their job in helping him treat the wound with minimal blood loss, and with no complications. The child was sent to recovery soon after, and Dark left well in advance of her departure to recovery. He did not acknowledge the parents, not did he alert them of his presence. The nurses could do a better job in telling them anything, and John had to make sure he made it home. He was out of the hospital as the night began to blanket the skies above. ”Shit!” he muttered to himself as he raced down several blocks, cursing himself for losing track of time. He knew he had set the alarms, but for whatever reason, they never went off. Dark was nearly home when he felt it: the first bone break. It was his leg, at first, followed by another. Slowly, John carried himself into an alley, as he felt the changes begin.
His body’s temperature by this point was near boiling point. He should be dead right now from that alone, not counting how his vocal chords were now shredded, his internal organs were failing him, and his mind is fried by this point. However, instead of dying, his body continues to go through extraordinary pain. His bones began to break, and his muscles began to tear before they began reshaping and reforming into something larger, something more powerful. Hair began to shoot out through John’s body, which began to rip through his doctor clothes on the ground. At last, laying where the doctor once laid, was now a massive beast, a creature the size of a lion, but in the shape of a wolf. As it began to approach the exit of the alley, it let out a monstrous howl, which spread across downtown Bronx.