In which I have someone called “The Doctor” murder all or one of my OCs in VERY graphic ways so.
CW: Blood, gore, murder, I literally read this while squinting. Idk why this is on my fanfiction.net account.
Summary: Welcome to the night. Mary-sue and an OC. You have been warned. Disclaimer: I do not own Rain or any of the other Sues mentioned in this “fan-fiction”. The various authors that are reading and reviewing this do. I also do not own The Hippocratic Oath, but anyone with half a brain would already know that. I do, however, own Doc. Steal him and I’ll be forced to do something rather terrible.
Author’s Notes: I find these notes, rather annoying. I just wanted to make it look like I actually still give a crap about FFN.
. . . . . . . .
The Hippocratic Oath
I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:
I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.
I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.
I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon’s knife or the chemist’s drug.
I will not be ashamed to say “I know not,” nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient’s recovery.
I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God.
I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person’s family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.
. . . . . . . .
“I DON’T WANT TO BE CURED,” she pleaded as the doctor jabbed her with a needle that was full of some strange green liquid.
“No,” she whimpered, “please!” But it was too late, he pumped the syringe into her blood stream. It burned through her veins and she screamed.
“Good girl,” the doctor said, watching as her body began to transform from half-cat half-human to an all human girl. If he was lucky, maybe his subject would actually survive this time around.
“My name is Rain,” she choked out through the tears. The doctor’s demented face curled into a devilish grin.
“Well then, Rain,” The doctor said, “looks like you’ll be my first specimen to survive this injection.” Rain’s grey eyes widened in fear.
“What?” She whimpered. The blood in her veins felt like it was acid, eating through her skin. It was getting harder and harder for her to stay awake.
“If you can stay awake, that is,” the doctor informed her as he noticed her eyes were beginning to close slightly. Her eyes opened wide again and tears poured from them.
“Why did you do this to me?!” She screamed, launching herself at the bars of the cage that surrounded her.
“Amusement,” he replied.
“You have nothing better to do than…than…” she held back a sob, “kill people who are different?” The doctor tilted his head back and laughed.
“Different?” he scoffed, “there are plenty of girls just like you.” He moved away so she could see the twelve other cages that held the dead bodies of girls that had the same features that she did. She glared at the doctor.
“Who are you?” she hissed. The doctor smiled.
“They call me The Doctor,” he answered, fiddling with a scalpel, “perhaps you’ve heard of me.” She gulped and watched the strange-looking knife as it glittered between his fingers.
She had heard of him. Who hadn’t? The demented man was all over the news these days; he was a serial killer.
“What do you plan on doing with that?” she whimpered, watching the knife. The Doctor smirked.
“If you live through this you’ll find out soon enough,” he informed her, turning his back and walking towards the other cages.
“Wait!” she screamed after him, “let me out of here!” He chuckled.
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
. . . . . . . .
SHE WAS STILL AWAKE when her blood stopped burning. That’s when The Doctor returned.
“I’m surprised you’re still among the living,” he remarked. She glared at him, breathing hard and wiping the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand.
He smiled at her and opened the door to her cage, reaching in, grabbing her by the throat, and pulling her out. She yelped and made choking noises as her feet dangled just inches above the floor. Her nails clawed at his hand, but it was of no use; she couldn’t use them as weapons as she once had.
“Can’t…breathe…” she choked out as he knocked her cage off of the table it had been on and threw her against the cold metal cot. She yelped again as he released her neck. She gasped for air and before she realized what was happening he had her fastened to the table and was arranging his tools next to her.
She struggled against the binds.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he picked up the strange knife he had been holding earlier.
“Tests,” he answered, examining the object.
“What kind of te-” she began, but was cut off when he slammed the knife back on the table beside her. She jumped at the loud noise and whimpered. He smirked, picking up the scissors and he began to cut away the fabric of her shirt. She screamed.
“No! No! No! Please!” She begged, struggling against the binds. The Doctor didn’t answer her, he pulled her shirt away and began on her skirt. She thrashed around on the table, screaming, begging, crying. He focused on the sound of the fabric being cut away, the soft, hypnotic sound of snip, snip, snip was absolutely intoxicating.
His lips parted at the thought of the scissors dissecting her skin. The blood pouring from her body. He tore her skirt away and stared down at her.
“Tch,” he said when he noticed the undergarments and began to cut away those with his scissors as well.
“No!” she screamed, “No please! Please!” He ignored her, pulling away the last of her clothing and putting the scissors down on the table. He reached for the scalpel and traced it along her smooth, pale skin. She screamed and trashed around the table.
“Hush.” he said so quietly, he doubted she could hear him. Then, slowly, he pushed the knife into her skin, just below her diaphram, and cut a clean line all the way down to her navel. He watched her face as he did this. Her eyes were wide with shock, her mouth open in a silent scream, her lungs were spent. Blood bubbled up from the cut as he pushed the scalpel farther, past her navel, before stopping.
Her body was shaking now, her face frozen with fear. Her eyes were locked on his face, begging him to tell her why he was doing this.
He thrust his ungloved hand into her abdomen and she gasped. Then the shaking ceased as she died with his hand around her heart.
“Tch,” he said, pulling his bloody hand out and licking the warm liquid from his fingers, “I’m disappointed.”