"This isn't my skin! This isn't my skin!" The boy howled and foamed, thrashing in his restraints like a wild dog. "This isn't my skin! Give me back my skin!"
Doctor Nameda chewed the end of her pen as she watched from the safety of the partition. It had been six weeks now since the Orthodox Church had arrived in the dead of night, carrying this boy on a stretcher. Six long weeks since the Woman in Red had appeared, and brought Kumogakure's Black Ops into the wing. The boy was the victim of a gruesome, fiery accident. Nameda had seen many of them in her career.
Shinobi entered the hospital in various states of injury. The lucky ones had been paired with a member of the Medical Corps for their mission. Many were not so lucky. Trained Medical-Nin were hard to come by, it was an area that demanded years of intensive training, delicate chakra-control, and most importantly, the ability to keep their wits about them and fight back when needed. So many unfortunate souls believed their three-man squad would muscle through a mission, and escape unscathed like the mangaka heroes. This boy however, this was caused by no mission.
She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her labcoat tighter around her as he writhed against his restraints. A Medic was attempting to approach with an outstretched open hand, and a syringe hidden at the side. She pursed her lips, and leaned forward, pressing the button for the microphone.
"Hansung," She warned over the speaker. "This one spits Lightning. Even if he can't make hand-signs." And released the button.
In the world of Shinobi, psychiatry came with its own hazards. A bout of madness, and wild hallucinations could spark the mind into a frenzy. She'd taken precautions of course, and soent the last several weeks documenting every technique this patient's mind threw at them. His use of Lightning was prolific to say the least. On a tuesday, after a morphine drip, he spat a "Wave of Inspiration" towards the ceiling, and tried to force a current through the wall for a makeshift "Rock Avalanche"; both techniques failed to start fires or cause destruction.
"Thunderclap Drill" was discovered when restraints had torn.
For safety, in the Hidden Cloud, with its military dominated by Lightning experts, she assumed all of them had the capacity for the fabled "Four Pillar Bind". The more she learned about her patients, the more Nameda had taken to assuming the worst about their battlefield prowess. Chakra, Doctor Aruna Hyuuga said, could be analogous to language. The more fluent one became with it, the more easily techniques rolled off the brain. With greater fluency came proficiency; fewer handsigns, less wasted movement. When it came to those with damage psyche, such as this one, Nameda checked off "Shadow Clone", "Hiding in Shadows", "Perfect Copy", and "Transparent Escape". She'd seen one too many ANBU in the field exercise the "Body Elimination" technique, and the infamous "Genjutsu Kai" had become all too ubiquitous among young Shinobi hoping to ward off illusions. All of these could aid some of sound mind quite well in a daring escape. It took field experience to detect a Shadow Clone, or watch the dark for a hidden attacker.
Over the course of six weeks, she'd done her due diligence to protect herself and her staff, collecting all of the available information she could. Chakra was like a muscle, the more it was used the stronger it became, but here and there, she found irregularities. Blood panels clearly displayed the hallmarks of a Bloodline Limit, his cells were primed for conducting Lightning Release, more-so than the average Kumogakure Shinobi. Yet these cells were tinged with spiritual energy of another sort, and although she'd poured over the charts, she couldn't suss out their secrets yet. Energy was eaten, and energy was expelled by his body, like a battery, and yet the energy was always of a different variety. Something inside him, even now, was shunting it away and drawing it from an undetermined source. She saw it too in his mitochondria; amassing chemical energy for their cells at whim.
Nameda took her pen and ran down the charts once more, all while her patient thrashed and writhed. She'd learned to drown out his screaming at this point. It was always the same, yelling and seething about how someone had taken his skin. Well of course his skin was gone, they both knew that; third-degree burns were difficult to treat even with skin grafts and Medical Ninjutsu.
Sometimes she'd stroll past on the evening shift to catch him unawares. The low-lighting and darkened halls played tricks on the eyes. Only the sounds of ventilators, capacitors and electronics filled the hospital, and frankly she found it peaceful.
She'd stand in the hallway, when the lights were dimmed, watching his monitors pulse. It was the only time he ever appeared peaceful. Yet even on those nights, she could've sworn the shadows themselves grew restless in his presence-- a trick of the eye she told herself. On those nights she found her thoughts growing dark, calculating his odds of survival and rehabilitation. She wondered how long his mind would sustain itself, how long until his kidneys and liver scarred themselves, if he could ever truly be released from the mental ward. Nameda would sip her coffee, take her notes, hope for any improvements, and exhaustedly, head to the next room. Then at eight weeks, the screaming stopped.
She found his silence deafening.
Was he catatonic? Slipped into a coma? For eight weeks he'd scarcely slept, thrashing wildly at anyone near him. For eight weeks food had been administered through tubes, his waste removed just the same. Long mechanical arms had served to treat his injuries and remove necrotic tissue, administer medications and change his wounds.
Carefully, she'd slid open the door to his room and stepped inside. Quietly setting the clipboard on the countertop, she grabbed a swivel chair and wheeled it around. Her dark eyes worked quickly, looking for dilated pupils, crust on the lips, sub-dermal hemorrhaging, or anything leaking from the ears. She'd seen that too-- from the Land of Grass weaponizing Cordyceps fungi-- when the brain liquefies slowly. She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, sparking a brilliant light into his eyes.
"Kojin can you hear me?"
[957 words]
Doctor Nameda chewed the end of her pen as she watched from the safety of the partition. It had been six weeks now since the Orthodox Church had arrived in the dead of night, carrying this boy on a stretcher. Six long weeks since the Woman in Red had appeared, and brought Kumogakure's Black Ops into the wing. The boy was the victim of a gruesome, fiery accident. Nameda had seen many of them in her career.
Shinobi entered the hospital in various states of injury. The lucky ones had been paired with a member of the Medical Corps for their mission. Many were not so lucky. Trained Medical-Nin were hard to come by, it was an area that demanded years of intensive training, delicate chakra-control, and most importantly, the ability to keep their wits about them and fight back when needed. So many unfortunate souls believed their three-man squad would muscle through a mission, and escape unscathed like the mangaka heroes. This boy however, this was caused by no mission.
She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her labcoat tighter around her as he writhed against his restraints. A Medic was attempting to approach with an outstretched open hand, and a syringe hidden at the side. She pursed her lips, and leaned forward, pressing the button for the microphone.
"Hansung," She warned over the speaker. "This one spits Lightning. Even if he can't make hand-signs." And released the button.
In the world of Shinobi, psychiatry came with its own hazards. A bout of madness, and wild hallucinations could spark the mind into a frenzy. She'd taken precautions of course, and soent the last several weeks documenting every technique this patient's mind threw at them. His use of Lightning was prolific to say the least. On a tuesday, after a morphine drip, he spat a "Wave of Inspiration" towards the ceiling, and tried to force a current through the wall for a makeshift "Rock Avalanche"; both techniques failed to start fires or cause destruction.
"Thunderclap Drill" was discovered when restraints had torn.
For safety, in the Hidden Cloud, with its military dominated by Lightning experts, she assumed all of them had the capacity for the fabled "Four Pillar Bind". The more she learned about her patients, the more Nameda had taken to assuming the worst about their battlefield prowess. Chakra, Doctor Aruna Hyuuga said, could be analogous to language. The more fluent one became with it, the more easily techniques rolled off the brain. With greater fluency came proficiency; fewer handsigns, less wasted movement. When it came to those with damage psyche, such as this one, Nameda checked off "Shadow Clone", "Hiding in Shadows", "Perfect Copy", and "Transparent Escape". She'd seen one too many ANBU in the field exercise the "Body Elimination" technique, and the infamous "Genjutsu Kai" had become all too ubiquitous among young Shinobi hoping to ward off illusions. All of these could aid some of sound mind quite well in a daring escape. It took field experience to detect a Shadow Clone, or watch the dark for a hidden attacker.
Over the course of six weeks, she'd done her due diligence to protect herself and her staff, collecting all of the available information she could. Chakra was like a muscle, the more it was used the stronger it became, but here and there, she found irregularities. Blood panels clearly displayed the hallmarks of a Bloodline Limit, his cells were primed for conducting Lightning Release, more-so than the average Kumogakure Shinobi. Yet these cells were tinged with spiritual energy of another sort, and although she'd poured over the charts, she couldn't suss out their secrets yet. Energy was eaten, and energy was expelled by his body, like a battery, and yet the energy was always of a different variety. Something inside him, even now, was shunting it away and drawing it from an undetermined source. She saw it too in his mitochondria; amassing chemical energy for their cells at whim.
Nameda took her pen and ran down the charts once more, all while her patient thrashed and writhed. She'd learned to drown out his screaming at this point. It was always the same, yelling and seething about how someone had taken his skin. Well of course his skin was gone, they both knew that; third-degree burns were difficult to treat even with skin grafts and Medical Ninjutsu.
Sometimes she'd stroll past on the evening shift to catch him unawares. The low-lighting and darkened halls played tricks on the eyes. Only the sounds of ventilators, capacitors and electronics filled the hospital, and frankly she found it peaceful.
She'd stand in the hallway, when the lights were dimmed, watching his monitors pulse. It was the only time he ever appeared peaceful. Yet even on those nights, she could've sworn the shadows themselves grew restless in his presence-- a trick of the eye she told herself. On those nights she found her thoughts growing dark, calculating his odds of survival and rehabilitation. She wondered how long his mind would sustain itself, how long until his kidneys and liver scarred themselves, if he could ever truly be released from the mental ward. Nameda would sip her coffee, take her notes, hope for any improvements, and exhaustedly, head to the next room. Then at eight weeks, the screaming stopped.
She found his silence deafening.
Was he catatonic? Slipped into a coma? For eight weeks he'd scarcely slept, thrashing wildly at anyone near him. For eight weeks food had been administered through tubes, his waste removed just the same. Long mechanical arms had served to treat his injuries and remove necrotic tissue, administer medications and change his wounds.
Carefully, she'd slid open the door to his room and stepped inside. Quietly setting the clipboard on the countertop, she grabbed a swivel chair and wheeled it around. Her dark eyes worked quickly, looking for dilated pupils, crust on the lips, sub-dermal hemorrhaging, or anything leaking from the ears. She'd seen that too-- from the Land of Grass weaponizing Cordyceps fungi-- when the brain liquefies slowly. She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, sparking a brilliant light into his eyes.
"Kojin can you hear me?"
[957 words]
- Word Count-less Jutsu:
- Body Elimination Technique
- Genjutsu Kai*
- Hiding in Shadows Technique
- Shadow Clone Technique
- Perfect Copy
- Transparent Escape
- Wave of Inspiration
- Rock Avalanche
- Four Pillar Bind
- Thunderclap Drill
