NewU Pt. 04a

Finally, the hour arrived, and at 9am on the dot, Doctor Matthews -- accompanied by a gaggle of other junior Doctors -- strode confidently and authoritatively into my room.

"Good Morning, Mister Roberts," He started, having not looked up from the clipboard in his hand yet, "How are you doing on this..." he finally looked up and stopped his sentence short. His eyes flashed back down to his paperwork, looking -- his thoughts told me -- for anything that would suggest he was in the wrong room or looking at the wrong notes, the fact that I was sitting bolt upright was enough to make him question the hospital he was in, let alone the room. Satisfied that his paperwork was in order, he turned his sights on me. "What are you doing sitting up?!?" he almost yelled, the concern and consternation taking over his features in a heartbeat. "NURSE!!" he bellowed into the corridor.

A few seconds later, Becky ran in, the impressive - yet fake - look of concern on her face at the Doctors outburst almost enough to convince even me. "Yes, Doctor?" yes replied through labored breaths, she took one look at me and her face dropped in horror, "Oh my god! Why are you sitting up?!?" she screeched before rushing to my side.

"Who put this patient in the incorrect position?" the Doctor demanded, Becky's flustered attempts to gently dislodge the pillows behind my back hampered by my reluctance to let them go, and her half-assed attempts to remove them.

"I... err... I don't know, Doctor." She breathed. It was an impressive display of acting, one that I would normally be more than a little concerned about, but I knew enough from Becky's thoughts to understand that she only lied under extreme circumstances and my condition certainly qualified.

"What do you mean, you don't know?!?" the Doctor screamed, pacing across the floor to the opposite side of the bed to where Becky was working, "You're his lead nurse aren't you? When was the last time you were in here?"

"Yes, I am." Becky replied, still portraying a look and demeanor of abject panic, "I was here a little over an hour ago, he was in the correct position then."

The other Doctors in the room were busily looking at their own paperwork -- apparently copies of the ones held my Doctor Matthews - each of them was slowly realizing the reason for the consultant's outburst. "If I find that anyone in your department has jeopardized my patient and ignored my instructions, I swear to god, I will..."

"Woah!" I interrupted him before this went too far, "Calm the fuck down, Doc. What's the problem?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Roberts," Matthews composed himself, "but you should not -- under any circumstances -- be sat upright, I need to find out who put you in that position."

"I put me in this position!" I calmly stated back, playing the part of confused and oblivious patient, "What's the issue?"

Matthews, all his accompanying doctors and -- in an Oscar worthy display of acting -- Becky, felt their jaws hit the floor. "You?" Becky asked suspiciously, "you sat yourself up?"

"Wasn't I allowed to?"

"Err... no. No, you weren't" Becky replied, the shock convincingly displayed across her lovely face.

"Anybody think to mention that to me?" I asked, pretending to be confused.

"Wait..." Matthews found his voice again, "you sat yourself up?" I nodded, "without help?" I nodded again, my eyebrows raising to highlight the apparent stupidity of his question. "How?"

"Err... the same way I usually do?" I over enunciated every word, as if I didn't understand his query.

Another silence settled over the room as each person within it flicked their eyes between each other. "It's got to be the pain meds." Matthews announced, walking around to Becky's side of the bed and checking one of the machines linked to my arm, it took only a few seconds for his eyebrows to frown even further than they already were. He picked up the clipboard on the table next to the machine and checked the readings over the past few days; apparently, they didn't make things any clearer. Becky was standing back to allow Matthews access to the machinery -- her hand over her mouth in shock. "Are these readings accurate?" the Doctor asked her, gently this time.

"Yes... I'm certain of it." Becky nodded.

"And the machine is properly calibrated?"

"The anaesthetist has been in to check it every three days." Becky confirmed. Apparently out of ideas, Matthews fell silent, his hand raising up to scratch the back of his head. Becky waited a few seconds before speaking again, "You don't think it could be..."

"Nerve damage," The doctor finished, shaking his head in dismay "It has to be, it's the only explanation."

"Err... Anyone wanna tell me what's going on?" I interrupted, trying to sound worried.

"Mister Roberts," Matthews' eyes flashed back to mine, seemingly only now remembering that I was still in the room and part of this conversation. "We... err... we're going to need to run some more tests."

"I know, you said that the other day."

"No, I mean we need to do them now!" he clarified.

"O...kay... care to tell me why?"

"Look, there's... um... there's no way you should be able to sit up, at least not without an extraordinary amount of pain, which you are obviously not feeling..."

"No, none at all." I frowned,

The Doctor grimaced but kept talking, "and if by some miracle you managed to sit yourself up and ignore the pain, there is absolutely no way you would be able to keep yourself there with the damage done to your bones and leg muscles. More than that, I am concerned that the extra movement may cause additional damage to your lower extremities; we need to lay you back down and get these tests booked in for as soon as humanly possible."

"More damage..." I muttered as I allowed Becky to remove my pillows and lay me back down, "Great. Didn't think to tell me any of this before now?"

"The only way that this is possible is partial nerve damage," the doctor continued, ignoring my question, "your nerves may be intact enough to allow limited movement, but too damaged to communicate sensation -- in this case, sever pain."

"I'm not following." I lied.

Matthews huffed and walked to the bottom of my bed, hoisting the sheets up to expose my feet -- the majority of which were encased in the casts. "Close your eyes and tell me if you feel anything." he sighed, already anticipating the answer. I closed my eyes.

He stuck a needle into my toe.

"Oww! What the fuck, Doc!"

"You felt that?!?" the look of incredulity on the Doctor's face would have been hilarious in any other circumstances, but his jab genuinely did hurt like hell.

"Of course, I felt it! What the hell is wrong with you!?" I yelled, jerking my leg away from him. Becky was trying her hardest not to smirk at this point, apparently, I was playing my part perfectly. Matthews had adopted the look of a bewildered schoolboy, his thoughts screaming with equal levels of confusion and concern. "Look, I don't know what has gone wrong here," I said, trying to look like I was yet to calm down, "but you must've made a mistake somewhere" I flipped the sheet off the rest of my legs, exposing the full casts on each of them. "I can feel everything," I wrapped my knuckles against the plaster, causing everyone in the room to either gasp or physically wince "and it doesn't hurt that much; yes there is a little bit of an ache, but I haven't moved in weeks so I assumed that was normal. I don't know what you want me to say, Doc, but stab me like that again and I'll jam one of these casts up your ass! With or without my foot still in in it!"

Becky had to pinch herself -- hard -- to suppress a giggle.

That seemed enough to pull the Doctor out of whatever thoughts were still bouncing around his head. "I apologize, Mister Roberts," he started calmly, "I didn't intend to cause any pain or discomfort, but the test was necessary. We need to get these tests done as soon as possible and I'm afraid that will involve a full body MRI scan..." I feigned a look of frustration but let the Doctor continue, "I know it's not what you want to hear, but we need to find out what is going on."

I huffed out a deep breath. "Fine, do what you need to do." I felt bad at my treatment of such an obviously skilled and compassionate medical professional, the guy was just trying to do his job but -- unbeknownst to him -- was dealing with a patient far beyond his understanding. This guy, under normal circumstances, would be almost solely responsible for overseeing my care and recovery, if I were ever to have gotten better -- in the pre-power days -- it would have been mainly thanks to him; he didn't deserve this treatment, but the need to protect Becky was more important. Regardless, I silently vowed to find a way to make it up to him.

"Can I see all of the medical staff outside, please." Matthews announced calmly. One by one, the consultant's entourage filed out of the room, Matthews and Becky -- both bidding me farewell - a few steps behind them; my nurse lover looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine and flashed me a wink as the door closed behind them.

Normally, that would have been the end of it, but my abilities were letting me hear the conversation as it happened in the corridor. "So, what are we thinking?" Becky asked with concern, genuine concern this time; despite her excellent performance in my room, and her amusement at mine, she was still extremely worried about my condition, the doctor's lack of answers was doing nothing to calm her nerves.

"I have never seen anything like it," Matthews admitted after a short pause, "It has to be a misdiagnosis; if it's not a problem with the pain medication and it isn't nerve damage, a misdiagnosis is the only explanation that makes sense. But I checked the X-Rays..." Matthews was genuinely racking his brain trying to find a way to explain my condition, memories of the afternoon when my unconscious and badly broken body was wheeled onto his ward flashed through his mind; he had poured over the X-Rays, the pre and post op repots and every other shred of information on my condition in order to formulate a care plan for my recovery. Every ounce of his professional knowledge and experience was telling him that there was no way that a misdiagnosis on this scale was possible. Even if the ER doctors had messed up -- unlikely on its own -- the surgeons would have seen the mistake as soon as they opened me up. Then there were the countless times when -- during my coma -- my temperature had spiked, or my breathing had become laboured and he had to personally intervene to save my life... none of this pointed to a misdiagnosis. Something was happening that he couldn't explain, and unexplainable conditions in a medical environment were never a good thing. Like most of the dedicated medical professionals in the world, Doc Matthews took the care of his patients personally.

"Alright, here's what I want you to do..." he announced, apparently coming to a decision, "I want you to get someone from the Fracture clinic up here as soon as possible so we can get those casts off, then I need an X-Ray, MRI and CT scan -- in that order -- make sure they are all done today, if diagnosis give you any trouble, tell them to contact me and I will make sure they understand the urgency of the situation... I don't want some technician or some overly bureaucratic jobsworth fucking this up! Call me when the results are in."

"Yes, Doctor." Becky replied and -- after confirming that the Consultant didn't need anything further -- headed off to the nurses station to start on her list of tasks, her mind rejoicing the entire time that Matthews had taken the bait and my condition would be looked into properly... and that she hadn't needed to sacrifice her job to get it done.

Despite the flurry of activity around my condition, I had work to do. The feeling of being completely refreshed -- both from a dammed good sleep in the bunker, my performance to Doc Matthews and Becky's oral efforts -- was not only new, but indescribably invigorating; somewhere in my newly discovered subconscious, there was an internal editing station that needed exploring and with some free time in the real world until the next round of test, there was no time like the present to start looking into what I could do.

It was strange, I thought to myself as I entered my bunker and looked around; I obviously had no idea or what these machines were truly capable of, yet at the same time, I seemed instinctively aware of how to work them and how to find out. Marco had been a great instructor, but his limited experience and appreciation of technology seemed to limit not only his 'library' but also the way he used it -- Toiling through books seemed incredibly inefficient; to be honest, scrolling through information on screens and typing commands didn't seem like a huge improvement - voice commands were the way to go, something that Marco's pen and paper approach simply couldn't accommodate.

"Alright computer..." I said, somehow knowing that this would work, walking into the room and starting to pace in circles around the pedestal, pacing being something I often did when I was trying to think. "Scan my imagination, and cross reference all conscious and subconscious desires with attributes that my powers are capable of granting me... display the results on the main screen."

The main screen -- I had decided -- was the screen to the left of the door, the one still streaming the lines of decipherable data. It was easily large enough to be viewed from anywhere in the bunker without the need to seat myself in one position.

In a few seconds, line after line of abilities started scrolling up the screen, thousands of them... tens of thousands maybe. My eyes scanned the list as it scrolled by, my eyebrows raising at some of the more ... Novel... possibilities.

Asbestos skin -- immune to burning... I guess that could be useful. Invisibility: maybe if I was still in high school and had girl's locker rooms around, but otherwise, useless. X-Ray vision... err no. There were a few that piqued my interest though. Telekinesis: the ability to move objects with my mind, I can see how that would come in handy being sat in bed. Sexual stamina: ability to achieve and maintain erections all will, instant refill of testis after expenditure... Most fucking definitely, apply that bad boy now!

I smiled as row after row of potential abilities scrolled up the screen; some of them were ridiculous, better for little more than a party trick, the ability to perfectly imitate another voice or sound, for example. Others, such as hardened skin and ballistic shielding -- obviously for times where my life would under threat -- would normally be laughable, but the foreboding at the back of my mind about the threat posed by the Inquisitors made me take special note of them. Others, despite my request that only useful options be shown, were ridiculous...

Change my gender at will... As much as I love women, I have no desire to become one. Change my skin color... Look, the green chicks on Star Trek were pretty hot, the guys, not so much... besides, that would definitely be noticed... selective fertility, the ability to only reproduce at will; yeah ok, that one might actually come in handy.

I slumped down onto the sofa -- the one whose function I still didn't know - my eyes never leaving the screen as more rows scrolled up.

"May I be of assistance?" A voice sounded from behind me.

"holyfuckingshitballs!" I leapt from the sofa, spinning around to face the intruder and instinctively dropping into a fighting stance. I was momentarily proud of that last part, but my attention was instantly pulled towards the strange suited figure standing next to the pedestal.

He looked like... well... a butler, for lack of a better word. Immaculately dressed in a full suit coat and tails, he was only missing the top hat to complete the look of a man at the Royal Ascot races, standing perfectly upright, his hands clasped behind his back. A thin ring of grey hair circled the shining bald patch on the top of his head and a keen pair of grey eyes regarded me with a look of amused tolerance as he arched an eyebrow awaiting my response.

"Err... who are you?"

"I am you." He answered plainly, without a hint of humor on impatience.

I narrowed my eyes at the man, suddenly remembering that -- according to Marco -- nobody else could possibly be in this room. "Are you the Pete of Christmas future?" I asked, relaxing from my stance and standing upright. "Have you come back from the future to warn me about the Terminators?" my mind reached out for his... nothing, nothing at all... It was like he wasn't there.

His eyes never left me, he just stared indifferently, as if waiting for me to finish before answering my question. He raised a single eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm done." I mumbled, like a school child being scorned by a teacher.

"I am the representation of your subconscious, a guide if you will." He said calmly and politely.

I scrunched up my eyebrows, "I thought this whole room was a representation of my subconscious."

"You have been misinformed." He stated simply, "this room is little more than a tool, a way for you to interact with and interpret information from your mind. You give instructions, your subconscious applies them, there is very little two-way communication other than that." He paused, waiting for me to process that before continuing. "I am the embodiment of your mind, a way to directly communicate with your own subconscious."

"Oh... well... nice to meet you, I guess." I answered, not really sure what to do with that information.

"Likewise." He added without expression.

"So, where did you come from, you weren't here the last times I came in?" I had barely finished the sentence when my eyes widened in understanding. "The sofa! Of course, ..." I sat myself back onto the leather couch, giving myself a moment to appreciate the luxurious softness and comfort of it. "So, what's your name?"

"I don't have a name."

"Don't you think you should have one?"

"Do you?"

"Err... yes, it would make talking to you easier."

"If you insist, sir."

I narrowed my eyes at the butler. "You don't have much of a sense of humor, do you?"

"And yet, I have a limitless supply of patience."

"You look like a Jeeves." I said after a pause, a pause spent scratching my stubbled chin.

"Very good, Sir." he said flatly, obviously not appreciating either his new name or the humor behind it, "Now, shall we continue?"

"Jeeves, you need to relax a bit, man." I smirked; I was going to enjoy teasing this man... myself... whatever. Nouns were becoming increasingly irrelevant in this room. "I am all ears, but you need to sit down and relax. I've never had a butler before..."

"I am not a butler."

"... but I'm pretty sure this overly formal personality is going to get old, quickly." I said, ignoring his statement, he sure as shit looked like a butler. "Hey, have you seen Iron Man?"

I could almost see his jaw clench a little. "Have you seen it?"

"Yes."

"well then, so have I."

"Right, of course... Well, be Jarvis," I smiled, "Helpful, informative, Sarcastic, much more amiable than this stick-up-your-ass routine that you've got going on." It was more of a tease than an insult, but the Jeeves' expression changed almost immediately, he rolled his eyes and sat down on the other end of the sofa. He took a deep breath, smiled with mild, humorous annoyance and raised his eyebrows.

"Much better," I grinned. "Please continue."

"How kind of you, Sir. Now, as I was saying; the devices in this room are little more than tools, there is no real intelligence behind them, the results of your request for a list of abilities should illustrate that... the ability to make your bowel movements glow in the dark -- although amusing -- would be absolutely useless. Communicating your desires through me would give much better results, moreover, having a comprehensive understanding of your capabilities, I am in a position to recommend abilities that would be more useful or appropriate in certain conditions without the need for you to assess the value of every possible ability individually. It would also save you the trouble of having to implement those changes yourself, you could simply tell me what you want, and I can make the necessary alterations."