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File #10572: OPENED
You are now viewing the official records of Patient #10572: Mario Kepler.
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Saint Erasmus Free Clinic and Trauma Center
Patient Record
Date of Admission: 24 December 2023 22:45
Attending Physician: Dr. Mercy Childs
Patient Name: Mario Kepler
Patient Age: 32 years
Patient Height: 6 feet, 1 inches
Patient Weight: 176 lbs
Patient Race: Human
Vital Signs: Yes
Complaint: Yes
Purpose of Visit: Patient complains of severe pain, difficulty walking and intermittent blood loss following a gunshot wound to upper right quadriceps femoris. Also present in left arm and shoulder region is an infestation of moderate to severe fungus.
Prescription: Non-standard interventions will be provided as necessary.2
The following log is transcribed from security footage of the Saint Erasmus Free Clinic and Trauma Center main lobby.3
22:45, 24-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Patient Mario Kepler and emergency contact José Guerra enter the main lobby through the door labeled “Emergency Exit”, which is propped open by a cinder block, next to the non-functioning automatic sliding door. Kepler wears a black plastic garbage bag taped over his left arm, and leans on Guerra on his right side for support. A trickle of blood runs down his right leg.
Kepler: I don't like the look of this place.
Guerra: No one likes hospitals. That's not what they're for.
An elderly man in a paper gown and bathrobe stumbles past Kepler and Guerra, stepping out into the snow.
Kepler: I don't want to die here.
Guerra: I don't want you to die either. That's why we need to do this.
Kepler: If I die, I die. I don't want to die here.
Guerra: Well I'll be damned if I let you bleed out in the car.
Kepler and Guerra walk through the crowded waiting room and approach intake clerk Pamela Persaud, who sits behind a reinforced glass window. Kepler pauses and looks up at the faded sign above her that reads “NO MALINGERING”.
Persaud: Can I help you?
Guerra: Dr. Childs. We need to see her. Now.
Persaud: You can have a seat, fill this out, and we’ll have someone take a look at you as soon as we can.
Persaud hands Guerra a clipboard through a slot at the bottom of the window.
Guerra: Not someone. Dr. Childs. Now.
Persaud: Dr. Childs is very busy. I can't guarantee you'll see her specifically, and even if I could, you would have to wait longer. Now you can have a seat and bring the forms back up when you're done.
Kepler begins to turn away.
Kepler: Let's go.
Guerra: We’re not going.
Kepler: Every bone in my body is telling me to run, even the one with a bullet in it.
Guerra: Childs was head of trauma at Site-8002. There's not another doctor in this city you can say that about. It's her or nothing.
Kepler: If she was any good don't you think she’d still be there? No one just gets up and leaves the Foundation.
Guerra looks down at himself then back at Kepler.
Kepler: You really want to do this? You're so goddamn sure this is the right move?
Guerra: I'm not going anywhere until this is under control.
Kepler: Fine.
Kepler removes the garbage bag from his left arm. Covering his arm and hand is a fractal lattice of white, gray and green mold and fungal pods. He pulls his Foundation-issued ID card from his jacket and slams it into the glass window, smearing pus on the glass as he does.
Kepler: Show Childs this.
Persaud: Please don't hit the glass.
Kepler: Just give it to her. She’ll know what it means.
Kepler slides his ID through the slot in the window. A glob of pus and spores sticks to it as he does. Persaud puts on a pair of gloves, takes the ID, puts it in a paper towel, and retreats to the back of the medical center. She searches the hallways until she finds Dr. Mercy Childs.
Persaud: There's a man in the waiting room who says he needs to see you right now.
Childs: Just wait until he finds out what the other dozen people out there are here for. He can't wait?
Persaud: He says it's an emergency.
Childs: Isn't it always?
Persaud: He had this.
Persaud holds up the ID card.
Childs: Looks like tonight just got a little longer. How does he look?
Persaud: Bullet wound to his lower thigh. Self-applied tourniquet on his leg.
Childs: Give him some gauze. He’ll know what to do with it. Anything less mundane?
Persaud: He was showing some pretty pronounced signs of…fungus.
Childs: Of course.
Dr. Childs looks over the rim of her glasses, inspecting the spores on the card more closely.
Childs: How close to his brain?
Persaud: Left arm.
Childs: Then as long as the spores haven't reached his bloodstream, we have a few hours.
Persaud: And if they have?
Childs: Then we’re going home early. Burn the card.
Persaud: Won't he need it back?
Childs: Not anymore.
The following log is transcribed from security footage of the Saint Erasmus Free Clinic and Trauma Center main lobby.4
23:35, 24-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Guerra fills out paperwork on a clipboard while Kepler applies pressure to his wound. It has stopped bleeding.
Guerra: You know that smell?
Kepler: Smell?
Guerra: That hospital smell. That smell that hits you right when you walk in the front door. I figured out what it is.
Kepler: Disinfectant.
Guerra: It's not disinfectant. I thought it was, but it’s not. Disinfectant smells good. Disinfectant smells clean. But that hospital smell is just wrong.
From the other side of the waiting room, a baby begins crying.
Guerra: It's shit.
Kepler: It doesn't smell like shit.
Guerra: Shit and disinfectant. Not enough for you to smell it for what it is, but enough for you to know it was there. Like when you check into a roadside motel in the wrong part of town. That smell that tries to tell you that something bad just happened here, and someone tried to clean it up. Tried to clean it up, but didn't care enough to do a good job.
Kepler: You think about this kind of thing a lot?
Guerra: Not until now. It didn't hit me until now. Because now I can't smell it. The disinfectant part, I mean. The Clorox, the ammonia, the fake lemon smell. None of it.
Kepler: Yeah. This place just smells like shit.
Kepler checks his watch.
Kepler: It was crazy to take this job. Maybe some of this shit already got into my brain. Maybe that's why we’re here.
Guerra: It's just a job.
Kepler: We shouldn't have been so quick to trust him. He could be dangerous.
Guerra: The Foundation is dangerous. Two dozen missions with you and I've never seen you question an order. Don't start growing a conscience now that someone who pays better is signing the check.
Kepler pokes his arm out of his garbage bag and looks at the fungus growing on it.
Kepler: Maybe that's what this is. A conscience.
Guerra takes his clipboard to the reception window. Kepler slouches in his seat, keeping his eyes on the entrance until Guerra returns.
Kepler: There's no security.
Guerra: Does it matter? It's not like a rent-a-cop is about to hold back the Foundation.
Kepler: We could always jump the line. We rush back there, guns out, get this thing taken care of 1-2-3. What can they do, call the cops? The Foundation is already after us, so what difference does the NYPD make?
Guerra: You can't pull a gun on a doctor.
Kepler: Who says I can't?
Guerra: Rules of engagement.
Kepler: Is the Foundation a party to the Geneva Conventions? Because unless everyone follows the rules, there are no rules.
Guerra: How about because it's morally wrong?
Kepler: Is that why we’re here? Is that why we hijacked the truck, grabbed the samples, shot Sellers? Because it was morally right? I didn't realize we were doing this for charity.
Guerra: Don't do this.
Kepler: Give me one reason. One real reason why pulling a gun on a doctor is such a big deal.
Guerra: Because it's bad luck.
Kepler: Bad luck?
Guerra: That's what they said at the Academy.
Kepler: …alright. I mean, if it's bad luck…
Guerra: We need to get back to the car soon. Those samples aren't safe in the backseat.
Kepler: Forget the samples. The minute that case got busted open they were as good as dead.
Guerra: So that's it? We just go to Charlie empty handed?
Kepler: You want samples? I'm the sample.
Guerra: Just hang tight; we’ll get this stuff out of you.
Kepler: If we can cut out a big enough piece to get to Charlie, sure. If not, just get me to him while I'm still warm. He can take what he wants.
Guerra: Don't fuck with me like that, man.
Kepler: I'm the reason we’re sitting here right now. You did all the work you needed. You risked your ass to lug me over here. Two dozen missions together and I haven't fucked one up this bad until now. The one that pays. So yeah, at the end of this you might as well collect your goddamn payday.
Guerra: I should ditch the car.
Kepler: We need to get to the warehouse by 3. We'll never make it to Charlie on foot.
Guerra: It's a Foundation transport vehicle. If they find it a few blocks over, it's not like it'll be a mystery where we are. I should take it down to the pier, leave the parking brake off, let mother nature do the rest.
Kepler: We have to get back to Charlie.
Guerra: There's a hundred cars on the street we can grab. Only one is a smoking gun.
Kepler takes a deep breath and sighs.
Kepler: Torch it.
Guerra: That's my man. Won’t take a minute. Don't die before I get back.
The following log is transcribed from footage of Examination Room 3F.5
00:40, 25-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Guerra opens the door and a nurse wheels Kepler into the room in a wheelchair. The nurse helps Kepler onto an exam table, on which he sits but does not lay down. A green curtain is drawn across the other half of the room.
Nurse: You can wait here. The doctor will see you shortly.
Guerra: How shortly?
Nurse: Shortly enough.
The nurse takes the wheelchair and exits the room. Kepler cranes his head to see through the window in the door to the room.
Kepler: Anyone out there?
Guerra: No one I’d be worried about.
Kepler: No other exits. They find us here and we’re done for.
Guerra: We just need to lay low. We're as safe here as anywhere else.
Kepler: You're willing to bet your life on that?
Guerra: There's two things you can count on when you see Childs: she doesn't ask questions, and she doesn't give answers.
Kepler leans back.
Guerra: And this is it. The home stretch. We’ll be out in no time.
Kepler: Don't hold your breath. We could be here all night. That's what these rooms are for: to keep the waiting room empty so it doesn't look like the wait is too long. Classic tactic. Same thing they do at Santaland.
Guerra: Santaland?
Kepler stands and begins rummaging through the cabinets above the sink next to the exam table.
Kepler: Disneyland too.
Kepler pulls a scalpel from one of the drawers under the sink.
Kepler: Help me find a tourniquet, will you?
Guerra: You can't be serious.
Kepler: If we've got this long a wait, might as well cut this thing out while we have the time.
Guerra: You cut into that arm and you could contaminate the rest of your body! It’s practically suicide!
Kepler sets down the scalpel.
Kepler: I know it's…the waiting. It kills me. If we don't see Childs soon…it's not like Charlie's going to wait forever.
Guerra: He doesn't need to wait forever. A couple hours and it's over.
Kepler raises his hand and stares at his fungus.
Kepler: In more ways than one…
The following log is transcribed from footage of Examination Room 3F.6
01:25, 25-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Guerra watches the door, the gun in his hand visible under his jacket, while Kepler rests in a paper gown. Dr. Childs enters and retrieves an electronic tablet from a slot on the wall.
Childs: Well you're certainly popular today, Agent Kepler. Or is it just Mr. Kepler?
Kepler: You can call me Homer Simpson if it makes you happy as long as you can get me out of here in one piece.
Dr. Childs reads Kepler’s vital signs and examines his wounds.
Childs: Your leg needs to be cleaned out and I can get it stitched up. It won't be anything fancy if you’re on a time crunch, but it should hold until you can get to somewhere more comfortable. You're a lucky man, Mr. Simpson: an inch and a half to the left and you'd have been dead by now.
Kepler: That's what they always say.
Childs: Pretty much every point in your body is right next to something you wouldn't want to lose. We live and die by inches: you get lucky, or you get a rock with your name on it. There's no in between.
Guerra: Much appreciated, but we've got a schedule to keep. What about the arm?
Childs: We’ll have to get the lab results for your blood samples back to confirm, but based on your time of exposure you should be in the clear for neurological issues as long as we can successfully root out the infection.
Kepler: What are our chances?
Childs: It won't be pleasant, but we should be able to get it out and save most of the arm while we’re at it. A series of subcutaneous injections of a sufficiently low-pH solution, followed by a topical application to the epidermis should be enough to kill off the last of the fungus.
Guerra: Any side effects?
Childs: Permanent nerve damage and reduced motor control in your right arm. But you’ll live.
Kepler: I guess we can't expect Foundation-level treatment in a dump like this.
Childs: The Foundation would cut off your body to save your arm. This may be a dump, but we're not protecting anomalies here; we’re protecting human life. It may be painful, but we’ll do our best to make sure you walk out better than you were when you walked in.
Kepler: One more thing: we need a sample.
Childs: Of your infection?
Kepler: It doesn't have to be big. Just enough of a chunk to survive a few more hours.
Childs: You want me to take the time to do a full biopsy before treating you? And while I do, will you be taking care of the patient who’s ODing in the next room.
Guerra: There's someone ODing in the next room?
Childs: If there isn't now, give it a few minutes and there will be. Time is money, and this is a free clinic.
Guerra pulls a roll of cash from under his jacket.
Guerra: I'd argue that money is money.
Kepler: All we need is to be out of here in an hour with a decent sample in our hands and enough organic matter to keep it alive for a few hours.
Dr. Childs takes the roll of cash and counts it.
Childs: Getting the sample shouldn't be a problem. What you need is an exit strategy. By my count you've got half a dozen agents here for you in the waiting room, and probably a few dozen more surrounding the block.
Guerra: You think you can call a taxi?
Childs: I can put you in the back of an ambulance. But an ambulance costs more than a taxi.
Guerra sighs and hands Dr. Childs another roll of cash.
Childs: Let's stop wasting time. Do you need a sedative?
Kepler: Will it make this take longer than it has to?
Childs: Most likely.
Kepler: I'll take my chances.
Childs: Then let's get started.
Guerra: And the person ODing in the next room?
Childs: Don't worry about it. People OD every day.
The following log is transcribed from footage of the Pre-Operative Holding Area B.7
01:47, 25-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Kepler sits in a paper gown next to Guerra.
Kepler: I'm hungry.
Guerra: All I've got is a pack of almonds and half a chocolate Santa.
Kepler: It doesn't matter, they said I can't eat before the surgery.
Guerra: So you're just making conversation?
Kepler: Don't mind me. Eat your chocolate Santa.
Guerra: Maybe later.
Kepler holds his head in his hand.
Kepler: Why do we do this?
Guerra: For the money?
Kepler: Maybe for you, but what about me? Why on God’s green Earth did I wake up this morning and decide to land myself right here, right now, with you, like this?
Guerra: Because it's the right thing to do.
Kepler: I haven't done the right thing in a long time. I can't even remember the last time I thought about it.
Guerra: You can't know if you don't think about it.
Kepler: You know. You always know.
Guerra: Then if you can't do the right thing, you do the wrong thing for the right reason.
Kepler: And that reason is…
Guerra: I’d still say the money.
Kepler: Of course. It's always the money.
Guerra: People have done a lot worse for a lot less. Just focus on getting out of here. If our luck holds out then by tomorrow our biggest problem will be counting the payout.
Kepler: Yeah. That's a lot of chocolate Santas.
Dr. Childs enters, dressed in operating attire.
Childs: You've probably got about 20 minutes before your entire MTF starts trying to break through the glass at the front desk, so we'd better get a move on.
Guerra: Is that enough time?
Childs: It's pretty thick glass.
Kepler: And the exit strategy?
Childs: Covered. There's a good chance you'll be getting out of here in one piece tonight.
Guerra: And if we don't?
Childs: You can always play dead.
Dr. Childs leads Kepler into the adjoining operating room.
The following log is transcribed from footage of the Pre-Operative Holding Area B.8
02:18, 25-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Red emergency lights flash on and off in the empty room. The sound of intermittent gunfire is audible from elsewhere in the facility. Dr. Childs enters from Operating Room B, blood still dripping from her coat.
An armed man dressed in black fatigues, identified as Mr. Augustus Jones, bursts into the room. Dr. Childs stands in front of the door to Operating Room B.
Jones: Move!
Childs: This is a restricted area. I need you to leave.
Jones: I wasn't asking.
Childs: Neither was I.
Sirens can be heard from outside, first close, then farther away.
Jones: This isn't about you, Childs! Just get out of the way and it’ll all be over.
Childs: You know I can't do that. Keeping patients safe is my job.
Jones: Changing bandages and cleaning out bedpans in a dump like this doesn't seem like much of a job.
Childs: It’s better than bussing tables.
Jones: I don't want to pull this trigger, but believe me, if I have to, I will.
Childs: I believe you.
Jones begins to lower his gun, then raises it again.
Jones: You're not giving me much of a choice here.
Childs: You always have a choice.
The gunfire in the distance becomes fainter.
Childs: What are you doing here? It's late. And I know they don't pay you overtime for this.
Jones: You know how it works.
Childs: I know it doesn't work for long. You can't ignore that feeling forever. You know the one I mean? The one where you wonder if you made a wrong turn somewhere in the past that led you here? The one that makes you wonder if every step is taking you farther from where you should be, but you’re too far gone to turn back?
Jones: What if I said I did?
Childs: Well I don't. Not anymore. Not here.
Jones: These aren't good guys, Childs. They've already killed one agent. If they get out of here, there are going to be more.
Childs: One day they'll say the same about you. You want to take them in? Do what you want, but don't do it here. That's not what this place is for.
Jones: Give me a reason.
Childs: It's bad luck.
Jones: Bad luck?
Childs: Don't they teach you anything at the Academy these days?
After a moment, Jones lowers his gun.
Jones: So what now?
Childs: We wait.
Jones: I can wait all night. But once they're ready to leave, they're still coming with me.
Childs: Honey, they went through the back door the moment you came in.
Jones: Bullshit. We’d have seen them.
Childs: Then why didn't you?
Childs steps out of the way as Jones pushes into the empty operating room.
Jones: Then all this…
Sirens can be heard in the distance, beginning far away and then getting closer.
Childs: I told you I called the police.
The following log is transcribed from footage of the back of Ambulance 11-C.9
02:25, 25-12-2023 - BEGIN LOG
Sirens blare as the ambulance speeds down the street. The patient care area is empty, containing only a zippered body bag laying on the floor.
The sirens stop blaring, and the ambulance slows but does not stop. There is a rustling from inside the body bag. A finger pokes out and unzips it from the inside. José Guerra climbs out, followed by Mario Kepler, still dressed in his hospital gown, arm and leg clumsily wrapped in bloody bandages. Guerra pulls a small cooler labeled with a biohazard symbol from the body bag and zips it up again, leaving only a cadaver inside.
Kepler: I don't feel good about this.
Guerra: You just had surgery. No one feels good after surgery.
The ambulance slows to a stop.
Kepler: We don't exactly have the high ground here. I can't shoot. I can't run. If things go south…
Guerra peers out of the rear window and draws his gun, holding the cooler to his chest.
Guerra: Don't choke at the finish. We're already here. As long as Charlie is ready to keep up his end, we're home safe.
Kepler: And if he doesn't?
Guerra gestures to the body bag.
After a moment, the crunch of footsteps in the snow can be heard, getting louder as they approach the ambulance. Guerra opens the door, revealing a tall figure in a long black coat and wide-brimmed hat holding a briefcase.
Guerra: Charlie! Looking good as always.
The figure does not speak or move.
Guerra: You know, we…we risked a lot to get to you here tonight.
The figure does not speak or move.
Guerra: Just want you to know, we put a lot on the line for you.
The figure does not speak or move.
Kepler takes the cooler from Guerra, and holds it up in front of him.
Kepler: Come on, do you want it or not?
The figure steps forward into the light of the ambulance. Under the hat and coat stands a decaying corpse, its bloated flesh covered in spores, pods and mushrooms that pulse with the movement of insects and larvae underneath.
The figure takes the cooler and opens it, takes a mass of fungus and tissue from inside, and pushes it through a gash in its sternum into its chest cavity. The flesh of its chest begins to writhe as a lattice of tendrils and fungus emerge, then sew it back closed.
Figure: At last…our family is complete again.
Kepler: So…complete enough to pay, or what?
The figure places the briefcase on the floor of the ambulance. Guerra picks it up, opens it, and begins counting the money inside.
Figure: Your service to our family will not be forgotten. Long after you have returned to dust, you will have an eternal place within our heart.
The figure recedes into the snow.
Kepler: Yeah…Merry Christmas to you too.
Guerra closes the door to the back of the ambulance and knocks on the partition. The ambulance begins to drive away. Guerra hands Kepler a chocolate Santa, which he begins to eat.
Guerra: This is it. They’ll never catch us.
Kepler: They'll catch us by sunrise.
Guerra: We can be pretty far by sunrise. How does it feel?
Kepler: Bad enough that I'll never do this again.
Guerra takes Kepler's hand, feeling his pulse.
Guerra: Well, I may not be a doctor, but as far as I can tell you're alive. For now. So make the most of it, will you?
Kepler: Yeah. …thank you.
Guerra: You can thank me when it's over.
Kepler: It's never over.
Guerra: Then you can thank me when you're dead.