Chapter 8: Humans will be humans

In the physics laboratories, through the brass-fitted workshop's hazy air, three plague doctors moved with methodical precision around a towering mechanical behemoth. The one who led the other two positioned between them wore a mask taking the shape of a kea beak, the other two wore the default resident masks. Their beaked masks caught the amber light from the overhead bulbs, casting elongated shadows on oil the stained floor. Steam hissed periodically from the mech's exposed joints, creating an ethereal atmosphere that matched their otherworldly appearance.

The tallest doctor, the one with the kea mask had a leather coat sweeping behind him and leaned deep into the open chest cavity of the suit, where brass rimmed guages and copper control levers gleamed. Their gloved hands moved with surgical precision among the pneumatic tubes and pressure regulators, each movement accompanied by the soft creak of well maintained leather.

"Pressure valve still reading high," he muttered, his voice sort of muffled behind his mask's filter. His voice carried the weight of decades, it's timbre, rough and gravelly, softened by age but relatively strong.

To the right, a female resident calibrated a massive gatling gun's feed mechanism, her dark green lenses calibrating the intricate brass working of the weapon. The rotating barrels caught the bulbs light, oil slick rainbow patterns playing across the polished metal. Her leather apron clinked with tools as she worked, each implement precisely arranged on specialised pockets.

The third plague doctor, a male resident, perched precariously on a brass ladder, making adjustments to the cockpits control throne - a nightmare of levers, pedals and pressure guages, arranged around a leather padded seat. Steam pipes snakes around it like mechanical veins, feeding power to the pistons visible through the mech's opened side panels. "Pilot's interface needs realignment, " he called down, his voics slightly hollow.

Around them, the workshop told its own story: walls lined with precisely arranged tools, each hanging on its own designated spot, on oil stained wooden panels. Spare parts and brass fittings filled with labeled drawers beneath sturdy work benches. Blueprints covered a distant table, held down by small brass weights, their edges curling on the steam heated air.

The mech itself dominated the space, it's feet planted firmly on brass reinforced floor plates. Even with its torso and chest panels splayed open like mechanical ribs, it maintained an imposing presence. The pistons along its legs caught occasional glints of light, and small pressure release valves periodically vented excess steam with soft sighs. The pilot seat nestled in its mechanical womb, waited patiently for its occupant, it's captain, surrounded by the complex symphony of Victorian engineering.

This was the innovation centre of course, where students and surgeons let their imagination run wild and made mind blowing innovations. Weapons and general hospital equipment were invented and innovated, however make no mistake, production was not done within the school premise. Brilliant minds came up with ideas, blueprints and prototypes then submitted them to specialist, essentially researchers who then understood the concept behind them and from their industries produced models that would be sent to the school to be used for whatever purpose they were intended for.

This specific plague doctor who led this operation was a old. Unable to participate in field combat, his main role in the school was to teach physics and engineering, and to hone the intellect of residents. This would be the eventual fate of all those who had grown old and weak. Beyond that point well...

"Pass me the pressure spanner, " the old doctor requested, holding out a gloved hand without looking away from his work. The female doctor moved with the cordinated efficiency of a long established team, the requested tool making its way to the old doctor without a word. The clicking and tapping of their work continued, punctuated by the occasional hiss of steam, and the distant thrum of the workshop's massive boiler.

The rhythmic tapping of tools against brass fittings was broken by hurried footsteps as a resident burst through the workshops heavy oak door, his leather coat billowing with steam warmed air from the laboratory corridor.

"Miss Vale, " he called out to the female resident, his beaked mask turning towards her, she who was elbows deep in an open pneumatic cylinder. The other two doctors paused their work, tools hovering mid motion as Vale straightened up, carefully extracting her hands from the delicate machinery.

"The Chief Surgeon requires your presence immediately," he continued, an edge of urgency in his filtered voice.

Vale merely nodded, methodically wiping her gloved hands on a nearby rag before placing her tools back, in their precise locations on the work bench. The other two watched in silence as she strode out with her informant, their boots clicking against the floor in alternating rhythm, the sound soon swallowed by the workshop's ambient hiss of steam and distant machinery.

As soon as the two were outside the laboratories, he pulled Vale to the side and into a shadowed alcove and took off his mask, his fingers slightly trembling against her sleeve. "Please," he whispered, eyes darting towards the workshop door they had just left.

"I know its soon but I need it, I have a field test in an hour," his voice carried that particular strain of someone trying to maintain composure while falling apart inside.

Vale's eyes crinkled beneath her plague mask as a smirk developed by the corners of her mouth. "I don't know Marcus, it's only been a day since your last dose," she said softly, her tone gentle but firm.

"If you take too much of it..." She left the consequences unspoken.

"You don't understand," he stepped closer, his voice turning into an urgent whisper. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite this winter season.

"My instructing surgeon, he expects a perfect performance. I can't fail, I just can't, please I need it," he pleaded with her. His hands clenched and unclench at his sides. She watched his shoulders slump, seeing the desperation war with his probable pride in real time.

"Exactly where I want you," she thought to herself staring at the poor kid.

"Mmmm, fine. Just remember, if you tell anyone..." She went on but he interrupted her abruptly.

"I won't! I promise, I won't, just please," he begged.

She was holding her face back from a grin, her gloved hand patted the leather pouch at her hip, making some glass vials within them clink tauntingly. She pulled one out and handed it to him. It was small and seemingly delicate, it's walls clear allowing for an unobstructed view of a mysterious green ooze contained within. The ooze was a vivid green, almost luminescent green, swirling with subtle gradients that shifted from emerald to lime. It moved sluggishly, clinging to the sides of the vial like a thick syrupy consistency.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, I'll get you the money later, I have to go right now. Thank you," he said after taking the vial and dashing off. Leaving her behind, grinning as she stared at him disappear by one of the many corners.

At the same time, a board meeting was taking place within Willem's office. Willem sat behind his desk as usual while the other seven board members sat before him on seats surrounding him forming a sort of semi circle.

Charlotte was of course present as a board member, a second board member wore a mask that took the form of a rook's beak and another wore one that took the form of a macaw - these two representing the southern branch of the school, another a jackdaw and one a magpie - representing the eastern branch, a flamingo and a heron representing the western branch of the school. The meeting had long started.

"The next letter of appeal is...Ayaan Glassman. And I read 'I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to formally appeal the decision regarding my discontinuation from the Plague Medical School and Training Centre and to humbly request your reconsideration to allow me to continue my practice. I deeply value the opportunity to be part of this esteemed institution and have always strived to uphold its standards of excellence. While I understand the reasons behind the decision, I believe that my circumstances warrant a second chance, my grades diminished after I, in the recent past lost a comrade who died in duty. She was someone I was close to and valued dearly. A roommate, a friend, a sister. This however, isn't enough to put me down and I am more than dedicated to push beyond that point and focus on my practice. I am committed to addressing any shortcomings and am prepared to take all necessary steps to ensure my performance meets the institution's expectations.

My passion for this course has been the driving force behind my academic and professional journey. Being part of this program has been a lifelong dream, and I am determined to contribute meaningfully to the field. I kindly request the opportunity to demonstrate my renewed focus and commitment by continuing my studies. I am willing to adhere to any additional requirements or conditions set by the institution to prove my dedication. Thank you for considering my appeal, and I am hopeful for a positive response.' That's about it," said the plague doctor with the flamingo mask. Funny enough, Ayaan was barely friends with Andrea, her roommate. It hardly made a difference in her life that she was dead and gone but whatever it takes to stay part of the institution right.

"She failed because she was attached, what if she does it again?" Asked the one with the magpie beak.

"She seems devoted enough, she appealed and much as I don't appreciate the emotional reasoning, I can see promise. Besides from what we've seen her grades outside field study are at per. I vote a revoke to her discontinuation," said the one wearing the heron mask. The rest aside from the magpie beak all agreed to revoke her discontinuation.

"Alright, a letter will be sent to her informing her that the discontinuation was revoked," said Willem.

"That was the last letter of appeal," said the one in the flamingo mask.

"Great, now, to our last agenda, Charlotte," called Willem.

Charlotte stood up in her plague mask and began, "Doctors, Chief...Surgeon, I have an issue. As you all know this institution has practices, protocols it conducts and holds true to itself which allow for us to research and innovate technologies and solutions to different predicaments faced by society and mankind as a whole. However, in the recent past, ever since our dearest Chief Surgeon..." She said in a subtly condescending tone, just enough that Willem and even the rest could tell but not enough to claim evidence of it. Besides, Willem was generally the type of man to let such pettiness role off his back.

"...was put in place, he dismantled the normal way of things. Recently interrupting a pathology class of mine, in the name of stopping 'unethical experimentation of humans'. People who were homeless, rejected by society, dying hungry and freezing on the streets, his Righteousness...I mean, the Chief Surgeon, chose to release them back to the streets as his act of virtue," pretending to have blurted it out, it was becoming an immature rant almost. The others shocked that she'd even dare. She however barely felt any fear, she knew Willem, thought him a coward. He sympathised with fugitives of war, he wouldn't do a thing.

"People who had agreed to these experiments, signed up for them. And that's not all. Orcs and elves, vile creatures and fugitives of war, released on the basis that they are worthy to be held with the same regard as us, ACTUAL humans. All I ask of our gracious Chief Surgeon is that he seizes these pseudo rules and allow things run as they should, I hope my fellow board members will stand by me," she finished then sat back on her seat. The other board members, majority agreed with her but at the same time, none wanted to be on the wrong side of the Chief Surgeon from experiences with prior wielders of that mantle. They as members, together even had enough power to threaten him and his position however, that required a unit. The lack of assurance in each other placed them in a position where by they felt as though acting out would get them into trouble as individuals. What they failed to realize is that was Willem, he held no grudges, he just wanted to do things right. Even against someone like Charlotte, he stood true to himself and noble to the cause. To him, she was just a mouthy mad scientistist.

"Anyone who would like to speak or add anything more, before I do?" Asked Willem. He looked around for a moment, none moved, they stayed rigid, upright while Charlotte stared at them disappointed. She knew they had the same thoughts as her, especially on the orc and elf situation however, they held back like cowards, at least to her, and it angered her.

"Great, so I've heard what you had to say Dr Charlotte and I want to first of all make it clear that we are doctors, and plague doctors. Above all else, we exist to fight and medicate for the betterment of humanity. That said, I will not allow anyone to exploit loopholes in the system and management of this institution to run unprincipled activities. We do not get to decide how one lives or dies, that should be a choice made of their own free will. That means YOU should have no influence over their decision making, manipulative tactics included such as 'contracts'. " he said looking at his everyone of them. He tried to make it seem as though he was adressing everyone in the room, and a percentage of his statements were but forbthe most part it was Charlotte.

"Today its them, tomorrow its you and I, there are insitutions within this country for said homeless people and that is exactly where they are sent upon discovery. Furthermore, those fugitives of war as you call them, were mere captives caught within our borders. They did nothing wrong except trespass which is no crime equivalent to a death sentence by experimental torture. They're not human but sentient enough to build societies of their own, families and homes, that is enough for us to treat them humanely. I will as soon as I can with the president's approval add the necessary rules to ensure all I've said, is set in motion. That's all, meeting adjourned." He finished staring at Charlotte who had turned her head slightly, just enough for her to see his mask. Everyone having their masks on meant they could not actually see each other's facial expressions but the tense mood of the atmosphere told the tale clearly. Charlotte clenched her jaws shut and hard as she glared at him. Her breathing almost loud enough for everyone else to hear, one couldn't tell if she was angrier at Willem for his speech or the other board members for failing her. Everyone slowly got up and began to leave, Charlotte still sat, angry and fuming but holding herself back. Her fingers had become rigid due to flection. Her claws almost digging into her thighs while he sat there comfortable staring at her satisfied and pleased with himself. What an era!