I told them to leave the room.
That wasn't me being rude. That was mercy. If they stayed, they'd either vomit, cry, or go catatonic. Probably in that order. I was doing them a favor.
"Operating rooms are for the sick," I said, which sounded cool and mysterious, like something you'd hear from a plague doctor in a gothic opera. In reality, I just needed five seconds to mentally scream into the void.
The door clicked shut. Sanctuary.
It was just me now. Me, the half-dead man bleeding all over my clinic floor like someone popped a jam-filled balloon, and the rising anxiety I was trying to suppress before it gave me a nosebleed.
His name was Jack, apparently. Missing an arm. Guts hanging out like holiday decorations. He was bleeding so fast, I was starting to feel woozy just looking at him. I took a breath and scanned the damage.
Right arm: vaporized.
Intestinal wall: shredded.
Vital signs: hanging by a thread.
Fixability score: Technically doable. Mentally? I'd rather be napping in a bathtub full of chamomile tea.
But the System wanted action. So I opened my inventory, pulled out a syringe filled with glowing green liquid, and stabbed it into his chest like I was restarting an overdose patient.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Good. Screaming meant the brain was still booting. That's a win.
The System liked the brain to be conscious during reconstruction. Something about imprinting the fear onto the flesh. Personally, I think it just likes to watch people scream.
I sighed and got to work. Time for the part I hated more than student loans and small talk.
Transformation.
My spine twitched as the change began. I felt the skin on my neck split open like overripe fruit. From the wound, thick, pulsing tentacles sprouted upward each one dripping, twitching, ready. I could feel the shift take over, a wet, squelching sensation like my own body was giving me the middle finger.
I no longer had a head. I had a horror bouquet.
Each tentacle held a different surgical tool scalpel, bone saw, forceps, and a humming cauterizer. One longer limb coiled around my custom surgical chainsaw like it was cradling a beloved child.
"Don't freak out," I whispered to no one. "You're just temporarily a monster. For medical reasons."
I bent over the patient. The tentacles went to work.
One slid into Jack's abdomen like it was browsing for snacks in a lunchbox. Another slithered up into the shoulder socket, twitching as it mapped the space for a new arm. Black, semi translucent tendrils writhed from my palm mouth and joined the surgery like they were on a team building.
Reminder: Don't scream. Don't scream. You are the doctor. You are the nightmare. This is fine.
the life sign of the patient seem to be stable
Which was code for "Let the horror spaghetti sew the organs."
Have you ever watched intestines slither back into a body on their own? It's like watching worms crawl into a zipper.
My hands weren't even moving anymore. The tentacles had taken full control. My brain working in a full on surgical mode
"Breathe," I muttered. "Don't faint. That would be incredibly unprofessional."
Meanwhile, the patient blessing him was alternating between screaming and foaming at the mouth. Which meant we were right on schedule.
I picked up the chainsaw.
Now, to clarify, I wasn't going to use it. The chainsaw wasn't for cutting. It was for ambiance. The sound alone triggered the regenerative protocol in the System's corrupted mess of medical logic.
I revved it once.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Perfect. Resonance achieved.
Another rev. Another scream.
I didn't even touch the guy. The trauma simulation did the heavy lifting. It was psychological regeneration, apparently. Or placebo. Or terror fueled metaphysical surgery. Whatever. I'm just the host body.
After a few more seconds, the chainsaw quieted. My palm mouth closed. The tendrils slithered back inside. One of the neck tentacles gave the patient a final gentle pat with its scalpel, like a creepy congratulation.
I exhaled, the tension slowly draining from my shoulders. My back ached. My skin was itchy. I had no face, but somehow I still needed to blink.
I stepped toward the door, forgetting again that I was still in Full Tentacle Horror Mode.
The floor squelched beneath me, wet footprints following my every step. Blood soaked my once crisp black suit, now dyed head to toe in viscera. My "neck" was still a bouquet of twitching surgical limbs. The chainsaw dripped gently with… something.
I walked into the hall like it was completely normal.
Three heads turned.
Jack was crawling toward his friends on his newly regrown limbs, babbling about lights and angels. His buddies were wide-eyed. Pale. Silent.
They taje a look at jack and talk about something.
and then they look up
Ash backed into the wall like he was about to clip through it.
Kai looked at me. Then at the chainsaw. Then at the tentacles. Then at the chainsaw again.
"Would you like to pay with cash…" I rasped, my voice echoing from somewhere inside the mass of meat and regret, "…or card?"
Kai screamed.
Ah.
Right.
The whole… "no head, bouquet of surgical tentacles thing."
I forgot to change back.
Look, in my defense, I was busy saving someone's life. Intestines everywhere. One arm is missing. The guy was flatter than my bank account. Do you know how hard it is to focus on appearances when your patient is trying to die loudly?
So yes. I forgot.
Now here I am, soaked in blood, neck replaced by fleshy horror noodles, holding a chainsaw like it's my medical license, and asking strangers to pay with cash or card.
Honestly, I should've just waved and said, "Have a healthy day!" But no. I had to go to the full horror movie final boss at the front desk.
And now one of them's screaming like I kicked his dog, the other one looks like he just met God and got rejected, and the third is currently rethinking all his life choices while hugging his newly regrown arm.
Fantastic first impression.
Five stars on Yelp, for sure.
…Okay. Mental note: transform back before leaving the OR, you idiot.
Also, maybe invest in a surgical mask.
Like. A really big one.
And, okay. That one's on me.