jla_watchtower | Entries tagged with do no harm

green-shield.livejournal.com

It was a good thing she stayed topside on the bust.

Sure, the patients were badly in need of a doctor when Arisia dragged them topside. Sure, someone needed to coordinate all the cops and firemen, and completely clueless office workers so no one got stupid.

That's not why.

The docs do good work here. REAL good work.

She kept hearing it over and over as they dragged people away. Then she saw the effect of the "good work." It's always hard for her to look at Mary. Add in the teen kid with the self-injection problem...

There's notes to input in a computer from her latest failure to cure this hell on Earth. She hasn't been able to do anything but go through the basic motions because in her head there are two people fighting over the goings on this week, they keep sounding like Pieter and Ollie, and it's really starting to piss her off. The patients they recovered are not well. It was a serious surprise when she got an e-mail from one of them. The message was the type you can only expect as doctor or a superhero. "Hi, I'll be dead next week. Mind coming by first?" Maybe it was a little more dramatic than that, but for Blaine it was downright understated.

She had to wait for 15 minutes in the car while she braced herself to go in, but go in she does, and acting like it's business as usual.

lexcorp-media.livejournal.com

"... pending federal investigation. On Wall Street, the reaction was swift as investors passed their own judgment by selling their Myrakel stock, causing the price to drop over 60 points before noon. Price at the closing bell was 2 cents a share. The office of Oregon's US Attorney announced a press conference will be held tomorrow at 9 AM Pacific...."

Dr. Harry Fansler shuts off the radio, then carefully ties off the white garbage bag, now holding every sticky-note pad, every pen, every highlighter, every clipboard, every calendar, every paper clip holder bearing the Myrakel logo. He'll feel better when it's all out of his office.

He hopes.

jla-extras.livejournal.com

As Dr. Mid-Nite continued to direct the evacuation of patients, Manhunter made her way through the maze of corridors, searching for other medical personnel. Most, like "Big Joe" the unit nurse were easily found and subdued, and the original trio of guards were coming in very handy at persuading the other security guards to stand down.

But somewhere in this maze had to be a chief rat ... someone who wasn't going to be able to say, "But I was just following orders."

She comes upon a door marked "PHYSICIANS' LOUNGE."

jla-extras.livejournal.com

The patient who calls out is a woman, alone in her room. There are no windows, but there is a television mounted on the wall, and a modest bathroom, much like can be found in any hospital.

"Doctor?" she asks again. As Dr. Mid-Nite draws closer, he recognizes her as Blue China Mary. "What're you doing here, doc?"

jla-extras.livejournal.com

As Zinda charges into the compound, the security car comes around the corner, heading towards the guardhouse. It accelerates when it sees the damage resulting from the car Green Shield threw.

Meanwhile, Arisia's ring detects activity in the building: lights coming on, a few people moving around inside.

jla-extras.livejournal.com

The dense urban landscape of Portsmouth gives way to countryside, and it doesn't take long to approach the GPS coordinates provided by Oracle. The site looks like a standard light-industrial park, well away from any cities, doubtlessly bought for the cheapness of the land as well as any privacy/security considerations. The landscape surrounding the complex is fairly open, very little shrubbery or ornamental grasses to provide cover. The complex itself is a collection of bland cubes of cast stone and smoked glass, the property's boundaries marked by an 8-feet tall chain-link fence. Here and there a few slender black poles rise, topped by squat light boxes, the white lighting seeming to brighten as the sun sets.

The parking lot has a few sedans and mid-sized cars parked near the front entrance, and there is a fleet of white work vans parked on the side. A small guardhouse can be seen at the gate, with several visible cameras placed at each corner. A beige car marked with a security company logo makes a slow circuit around the buildings.

zinda-blackhawk.livejournal.com

Meeting adjourned for now, the first order of business is to try to locate any of the vehicles reported in the local abductions. The Blackhawk takes a few minutes to acquaint herself with Camilla's equipment, an assessing gaze sweeping over the rig before she looks back to its owner, her hands coming to rest on the back of the large -- and comfortable-looking -- chair.

"Ready to catch some cyber waves?"

portsmouth-crew.livejournal.com

Your mission, should you choose to accept it--and you will, because that's the kind of people you are--is to find out why so many homeless patients are disappearing from the streets of Portsmouth. The doc doesn't take on the easy cases. Look at me. Look at any of us, really.

This one didn't go out on the tip board. No point in panicking people, but I've been combing through the e-mails and postings on our board to see if anything comes up. Not sure I've come up with a whole lot. The answers are probably out there on the streets.

Camilla can't remember the last time there were this many people at the doc's house. Usually it's just him, Charlie, maybe Nite-Lite and some of his crew, Tara when she can, and Camilla herself. The Black Canary a couple of times, Arisia--who makes Camilla feel big and clumsy--but the pilot's new. Great cook, that lady. This Manhunter chick's scary, even without the gauntlets and the staff, but she's looking for someone, and Tara likes her, so that's something in her favor.

Poor Arisia. Used to be, when she came here, she'd be helping out the doc, but this time around she's mostly been sleeping or being quiet somewhere in the house. Still nice as ever, but something really bad must've happened.

Camilla leaves off wondering about Arisia as everyone files into the meeting room. Time for her to start tracking what they find, see if there's a pattern to the pieces.

the-manhunter.livejournal.com

Stalking around Los Angeles, dressed as a vigilante was one thing. Los Angeles was weird, dark, and cruel. It was soulless and slimy and, frankly, the perfect stomping grounds for someone like the Manhunter. She could chase down the villains who had escaped from the law and hand their asses to them, branded with her own special brand of justice. Stalking around Portsmouth, Oregon dressed as the Manhunter, though, was a little different. Dressed in her form-fitting red, silver, and black suit, most of her face covered by her mask, the Manhunter felt the slightest bit doofy. Portland wasn’t Los Angeles. The large, clawed metal gauntlets she wore, coupled with the special staff in her right hand, felt like altogether too much for a city like this, but Manhunter had no choice.

The trail leading her to Clayton Kress had fallen cold. She had tried every legal way imaginable to find the guy, using all of her legal prowress in the process. She spoke to doctors, she got court orders for each and every clinic she visited, and nothing. Even the few doctors who kept visual records of their patients turned up nothing. But Clayton Kress had to be here. He had to be. Short of leaving the country (hunh. Maybe she should have tried Tijuana first. It would have been closer.) there was no other place that Clayton could conceivably have gone.

Was there?

Kate hadn’t been too sure, which was precisely why she had donned her Manhunter uniform and started using the information she’d retrieved from Cameron Chase and Dylan Battles to see if she could find anything in Portsmouth’s not-so-seedy-but-still-dark-enough underworld.

And still bupkis.

Kate was at her wit’s end here, and she really needed something – anything – to come and give her a clue as to where Clayton may have been hiding, because if she didn’t, Manhunter was going to be getting very violent very soon, and that could just get ugly.

elfinlantern.livejournal.com

And Arisia needs some time.

Her physical wounds heal a lot faster than her mental ones and in this case there is a mental traumafield in her head. Her instinct was to head to Portsmouth. She needs a doctor - not for the physical, which her body is still taking care of itself - but for the emotional. He's amazingly good at the emotional.

Zinda wouldn't let her go alone. To be totally truthful, Zinda wouldn't let her even fly them out here. She's too thin. She's tired. She's hurt. She should probably go talk to Hal but just right here and now....

She can't do it.

He wasn't in his right mind. But he wasn't in his right mind the first time, either.

Either way... It... It isn't ...

Arisia pulls in a breath and lets it out again slowly. "How long until we get there?"

jla-extras.livejournal.com

A physician's office is often a showcase for product placement. Pharmaceutical companies love to send out their sales representatives armed with presents branded with their logo and information about their latest wonder drugs.

The office of a free clinic's medical director is a spectacular example of such a showcase, since every notepad, ballpoint pen, felt-tip pen, rollerball pen, highlighter, clipboard, coffee mug, or calendar given by a drug rep represents money they don't have to spend on office supplies. Dr. Fansler's is no exception. In every direction, the doctor and his visitors are treated to a host of names: Fyzer. Luthor Technologies. Wayne Pharmaceuticals. Myrakel. Wayne BioTech. Bannermain Chemical. There is even a bookend from now-defunct Praeda Industries, which Dr. Fansler moves out of the way in order to reach his phone and dial a number.

"Pieter? It's Harry, Harry Fansler. I ... know this may sound strange, but I need a favor. Discreetly. I--this sounds very cloak-and-dagger, but there's privilege at stake. Could you come by the clinic so we could speak face to face? Bring Tara if you want, or another assistant who can be trusted. Thank you." He hangs up the phone and blots his face with his handkerchief.

the-manhunter.livejournal.com

Geri Halliwell.

Geri Halliwell blasting from Damon’s pc right into Kate’s office.

Geri Halliwell singing “It’s Raining Men” from Damon’s pc right into Kate’s office.

Remind her why she keeps him around again?

Kate Spencer rubs her eyes and stares at her door for a moment, briefly wishing that she was telekinetic so she could close her door without getting up. But she isn’t and she doesn’t want to get up to close the door either. The case she’s working on right now demands her full attention, attention she can’t afford to lose anywhere else.

Right. So buy ear plugs next time she goes to Target. Check.

She takes a sip from a frightfully cold cup of coffee and gags, setting it back down on its coaster. She could ask Damon for a fresh cup of coffee, but knowing him, he’s probably out there grooving to the former Ginger Spice.

( Kate stares at the screen, looking over the particulars of her case... )

jla-extras.livejournal.com

St. Christopher's Hospice suffered some minor damage when the cult of Croutex raged through Portsmouth (and the rest of the world), but its chief medical director, Dr. Harry Fansler, was determined to continue with the foundation's mission: to provide free (or nearly free, for those whose pride will not allow them to accept even the most tactfully offered charity) medical care for the homeless of Portsmouth who are HIV-positive or have full-blown AIDS. The sick receive the best treatment Dr. Fansler and his staff can offer. The dying receive the privacy they wish, with their friends or a staff member nearby when the hour comes, so that they do not die alone and unmourned in the alleys and gutters of Portsmouth.

The clinic is held together with donations from the wealthy who are looking for a socially acceptable tax write-off, or those who give in memory of their loved ones, or those who still believe that caring for the sick and the poor are two of the cardinal works of mercy. Those who cannot give money donate canned food for the patients, or clean bedding, or an extra box of latex gloves, or volunteer a few hours of their time.

Some volunteers have a particular interest in Dr. Fansler's work, either for their own reasons, or because the man once known as "The Midnight Doctor" has spoken of him with approval, or both.

Current Location: portsmouth

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JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Entries tagged with do no harm

Internal Ethics Memos Keep Flying...

Grand rounds

Causing a little white-coat hypertension

Paging Dr. Mid-Nite

I aim to misbehave

Protect me and lead me safely to my destiny

Needles and Haystacks

Make me more energetic in setting right what I find wrong with the world instead of complaining

Manhunting Portsmouth

The battle is over

Give your warning sign if danger is near so that I may stop while the path is clear

Sick of a Case

Grant me, O Lord, a steady hand and watchful eye, that no one shall be hurt as I pass by.

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November 2016

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