A Jack of All Trades

The fluorescent hum of the operating room still clung to Dr. Alab like a second skin, even as he stepped out into the pre-dawn quiet of the hospital corridor. His green scrubs, usually crisp, were rumpled, bearing the faint ghost of a long night's work. But it wasn't the physical fatigue that weighed him down; it was the bone-deep weariness etched beneath his eyes, a testament to the eighty-four hours he'd spent tethered to the relentless rhythm of the emergency room.

A passing nurse, her own scrubs a mirror of his, offered a tired but genuine, "Good job on that one, Dr. Alab. Fast work."

He managed a ghost of a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for a fleeting moment before returning to their default downward curve. He knew she meant well, but the praise felt hollow, a polite echo in the vast, silent chamber of his exhaustion.

His quarters were a sanctuary of sorts, though barely lived in. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of coffee and the faint metallic tang of antiseptic. Three mugs, each containing the dregs of forgotten brews, sat like sentinels on the smaller table, alongside a collection of plates bearing the remnants of hurried meals. The larger table, usually a repository for medical texts and legal briefs – Alab was both physician and lawyer, a peculiar duality – was now partially obscured by a half-finished jigsaw puzzle.

A sharp stab of pain pierced his chest, a familiar visitor. He didn't flinch. Instead, he reached into his pocket with practiced ease and slipped a nitroglycerin pill under his tongue. Just another reminder, he thought, that I'm not invincible.

He glanced at the puzzle – a pastoral scene titled "Beautiful Life" – and a pang of something akin to longing resonated within him. He picked up a piece, a tiny sliver of sky, and fit it into place. It was a small act of defiance against the chaos that swirled around him, a brief assertion of control in a life that often felt overwhelmingly out of his hands.

A notification chimed on his phone. He squinted at the screen. "Alab! You did it! Congratulations on the case!" The message was from a colleague in the legal field. He'd successfully defended a fellow doctor against a malpractice suit, a victory that should have felt triumphant, but instead left him strangely empty.

He looked back at the puzzle. The image, when complete, would depict him and his colleagues, their faces bright and full of purpose. Beautiful life, the title proclaimed. But as he scanned the almost-finished picture, a nagging sense of incompleteness prickled at him. There, in the bottom left corner, a single piece was missing, a dark void in the otherwise idyllic scene.

He sighed, the sound a weary rustle in the quiet room. He lay back on the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Thirty-five years old. Doctor. Lawyer. Happy? The question hung in the air, unanswered.

He thought of his journey, the years of grueling study, the sacrifices, the relentless pressure. He'd chased two demanding professions, driven by a vague sense of duty, a desire to help. But somewhere along the way, the path had diverged, leaving him feeling adrift. I envy those who found their true north, he mused. Those who knew their purpose from the start.

A sudden decision crystallized in his mind. "I need a change," he whispered to the empty room. "A real change." He would resign from the hospital, sell his practice, and finally explore the world that lay beyond the walls of his self-imposed prison.

He closed his eyes, and sleep claimed him, a deep, dreamless sleep that offered a brief respite from the relentless churn of his thoughts. But even in sleep, the unease lingered, a subtle tremor in the quiet landscape of his subconscious.

He awoke to a light so bright it stung his eyes. He was no longer in his familiar quarters. Instead, he lay on a plush sofa in a room that seemed to float suspended in a vast, cerulean void. Above him, an open ceiling revealed not the familiar hospital lights, but a clear, impossibly blue sky. And even more strangely, above the opening were several floating doors.

Am I dreaming? he wondered, his mind struggling to grasp the surreal landscape.

He turned his head and saw two figures seated in armchairs nearby. One was a bald man, seemingly in his thirties, the other an older man with a weathered face and a patch over one eye. Behind them, a painting on the wall mirrored the scene before him, a tableau of the room, the sofa, and the two men.

The bald man spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. "Welcome, Alab. We know you're probably a little disoriented. How are you feeling?"

Alab blinked, his mind racing. How am I feeling? The question echoed in his thoughts, a familiar refrain from his own medical practice, now turned back upon him. Before he could answer, the bald man continued, "You're not in your world anymore, Alab. This is Mozzafiato – a space between worlds."

The older man nodded. "Welcome, young man. I am Polo. As Merlin said, this is Mozzafiato. You are here because you are to be my successor."

Successor? The word hung in the air, heavy with implications. Alab sat up, his heart pounding. "I know you," he said, his voice hoarse. "You were my patient."

Polo smiled. "Indeed, I was. You healed my body, Doctor. Now, allow me to heal your soul."

My soul? Alab felt a wave of confusion wash over him. "What are you talking about? Successor to what?"

"You, Alab Juno," Polo said, his eyes meeting Alab's, "are destined to be the next Librarian of Mozzafiato."

"Librarian?" Alab echoed, the word unfamiliar and strange.

"Yes," Polo confirmed. "You will enter a new world named Gaia, a world far grander than you can imagine, a role more significant than you can expect. You can be free as a bird, or you can bear the heaviest responsibilities—or you can choose to be indifferent."

Alab felt a surge of frustration. The man's cryptic pronouncements only deepened his confusion. "And these criteria you keep alluding to?"

As if in response to his question, the painting behind Polo shimmered and dissolved, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors. From this chaos, playing cards materialized, spinning and dancing in the air, orbiting Polo like a miniature galaxy. He reached out and plucked a card from the swirling mass. It was the Jack of Diamonds.

"Criteria number one," Polo announced, his voice taking on a theatrical flair, "A Jack of All Trades. A person who can perform acceptably in various tasks." He held up the card, displaying the grinning Jack. "The world you are about to enter, Gaia, is a place of infinite possibilities, where knowledge and skills of all kinds are valued. It's a world in constant flux, Alab, a world that demands adaptability, resourcefulness… a Jack of All Trades." He paused, his gaze piercing. "And you, Doctor, Lawyer, puzzle enthusiast,racer, athlete… you strike me as a man who wears many hats."

A flicker of understanding, mixed with a healthy dose of skepticism, sparked in Alab's eyes. He was being offered something extraordinary, something that resonated with the restless yearning he'd felt for so long. But this fantastical realm, this Librarian role… it all felt so unreal. Was this truly the answer to his search for meaning, or just an elaborate hallucination brought on by exhaustion? He looked at the swirling cards, at the serene face of Polo, and a single question echoed in his mind: What is the catch?