Fuck this place.
No, no, that's a terrible start, let me go again.
 
My name is Scalpel.
It used to be Christian, but that was a while ago now. Ten, twelve years, I lost count.
I used to be a doctor, you see. I was fairly forgettable and I had no outstanding talent that I knew of. I was decent at my work, and that was that. Get up in the morning, eat without tasting the food, shower while staring blankly at the wall, get to work, get to know strangers and their various ailments, prescribe oils, leeches, cut, sew, make idle chat with the nurses while they clean up and force painkillers into the mouths of patients. Sometimes I would go to a pub and drink until I couldn't walk in a straight line. Maximum alcohol content laws being what they were, I would amass maybe 20 bottles on my table before I reached that point. Took a while. I would sit there and fantasize about somebody coming up and asking me anything. That's a lot you're drinking, friend. What do you do for a living? You got any hobbies? Hopes, dreams, a girl?
 
Any answer that I could give would be terrible. I have my work and I have this pile of pissbrew bottles. Do I look like I have anything else?
 
And then a shift comes along. Late night, the free clinic. TransGrav train didn't operate at night, so you knew anybody who stumbled in was going to be a bum no matter what. Wounds? Bring in the boiling stuff, and the clinic doesn't carry painkillers so you better keep the guy quiet. Passed out? Make sure he's not dying and leave him outside. Serious problems are redirected to the hospital, where they'll be treated and sent to jail for not having the dough for the treatment.
 
I'm four hours into the shift and already trying to stay awake. Nobody came in for the past two hours and the nurse was taking a break, and then they show up. Five guys, tough guys, leather jackets, stained shirts, most have daggers at their sides, one is carrying a flintlock. They're all carrying a bloodied mess of a man with a hole in his belly, unconscious. They lay him down gently on the table, and only then the guy with the piece starts talking. I dimly remember how calm they all were. Well, tense, but professional, that's it. Fix him, and you'll do well to keep quiet. He didn't pull out the gun and he didn't need to. Let's fix him. The nurse is still out so I use the guys. Boil the water. Tongs. Stitches. At some point the guy wakes up and starts screaming, and one of them pulls out an unlabeled bottle and forces him to drink. I didn't ask. To be fair, I didn't ask anything at all. He looked okay, and I mechanically told them to gently take him and let him rest. They picked him up, unconscious again, and left.
 
I sat, heavy, back in my chair, and only then noticed an envelope left by the door. Opening it, that was...
That was a bunch of money. More than a month's pay, easily. I put it in my coat pocket and tried not to think about it for the rest of the shift. The nurse came back, we made idle chatter and nobody else came in that night. Thank god.
 
That was the first time, but soon it became a regular occurrence in my free clinic night shifts. Every two weeks or so, they show up, I give the nurse a break and a bit of the pay, and I fix their patients. They bring their own painkillers. Stab wounds, slashes, bullets, a lot of infections, two separate cases of dangerous intoxication and one case of a botched tattoo. For the tattoo one, the guy refused painkillers, and as I carefully removed the skin that was showing signs of infection he swore revenge on the guy who did it. They come in, I do my job, I don't ask questions, they leave, I get paid.
 
At some point the hospital starts asking questions.
The clinic runs out of supplies way too often.
There are no documented usages of the stuff and still it disappears.
At some point I show up to the hospital itself with a blood stain on my coat. I definitely did not have any surgeries the day before, they checked. Nobody threatens to go to the authorities yet, but I'm tense. I don't want to go to jail. Losing my job is easy, I got a lot of money from moonlighting. Maybe they could even fix me up with a clinic, I'll work for them full time. No fuss, no questions, hell, I could probably have something to drink at work.
 
Finally I'm summoned by the administration. A representative of the Doctor's Guild is present. Nobody seems angry or disturbed. I am quietly informed that I am discharged, as well as removed from the guild. I will not receive compensation, in return for the authorities not being informed. Nobody wants this mess on the hospital's reputation, and the Doctor's Guild wants nothing to do with it. We will go our separate ways, and they even wish me luck on my future endeavors as I am ushered out. I'm terribly unfazed. That night in the pub, I think I reached 30 bottles.
 
A week went by and I wasn't contacted. Did they just keep going to the free clinic, and use whatever doctor's there? I'm sure a different doctor would make a mess of things, try to contact the authorities or something. Another day goes by, I head to the pub, I make my little pile of pissbrew bottles. I wish I could drink something with more content. The unlabeled bottle they used as a painkiller flashes before my eyes. Illegal moonshine, I bet. It smelled like it. I would die for some moonshine. My head is spinning at that point, and that's when I'm approached.
 
Would you like your own clinic?
Yes. I distinctly remember slurring it.
They put a bag over my head, I think, and they lead me somewhere. Something was crackling. Is that a portal? Am I in the Town Square Portal? No way, we're not outside, this feels like a basement -
That's when I passed out.
 
I came to at noon, hung over and thirsty. I was in a tent of sorts, colored red. Next to me was a pile of clean clothing and a small jug of water. I took a sip, put on a leather tunic and some trousers, as well as rough leather sandals, and headed outside, blinking at sky. Is the sun green? Why is the sun green? There isn't a cloud in the sky, and looking around me - oh, I'm certainly not in the city anymore.
 
The yellow waste looked truly endless. I could make out lone trees and hills in the distance, but nothing else. Nearby, I could hear chatter and the sound of alien beasts. Looking, I could see a herd of strange bovine creatures, featuring four short stubbed horns each, being lead by a couple of young boys. An extremely large stone building was behind them, with multiple entry ways of various sizes. Bones decorated the entrances and the tips of spikes at their tops suggested vertical gates. Large pieces of cloth were hung from the building, each featuring a single device - a dog with a frenzied look in his eyes.
 
The realm of the Mad Dog, how did I not figure this out? When the Dog made his stand against the police, many perished - but nobody could ever confirm his death, and many of his closer lackeys were missing as well. Rumors of a secret portal, to an Inaccessible world, surfaced almost instantly. The authorities had no official response, and the fact moonshine kept flowing into the city made it more or less fact. A world ruled by the Mad Dog, where he does as he pleases and conducts his business without interruption. People were walking in an out of what looked like a workshop attached to the main building, bringing in supplies and furniture. This time I guessed right away. My clinic.
 
I got used to work faster than I expected. Most of the time I didn't even need to be in the clinic, and I would be free to do as I pleased. Long walks around the strange world, with a bottle or two of moonshine, became a habit. If I was needed, they would ring the bell at the top of the large building, the Mad Dog's lair. That bell could be heard anywhere, no matter where I went. Being late wasn't a concern for the Dog, oddly enough. I got to the clinic when I got there, and if a patient died - so be it. I only actually met the Mad Dog once, and it was a brief meeting. After settling into the clinic I was brought before him, a giant of a man draped in leather and cloth and bone. He appraised me with his eyes for a long while before speaking. You are now my scalpel.
 
That was it. My new name was set. If the Mad Dog needed something of me, he would send word through his lackeys. When cutting open this one, painkillers should not be used. I didn't ask if it was punishment or a test, maybe both. Looking back, there was definitely a downward curve of these orders. First no painkillers for some, then to use unsterilized equipment for others, then to remove a man's ear during surgery. When that order came me and Nurse looked at each other for a long while before getting on with it.
 
I should've mentioned Nurse. A small woman, with a giant jagged scar across her neck. When introduced I was informed she is to be my nurse, and that "she don't talk". I tried to be gentle with her, explaining the things I might ask for during surgery and where they are, as well as how to treat equipment and patients in my absence. She listened intently, and never made a sound. I liked her eyes. Intelligent, black eyes that followed my every movement. We got along well, and occasionally I would take her on my walks. She didn't drink, but I felt like we shared something.
 
As the medical orders from the Mad Dog became increasingly bizarre, I was forced to be made aware of the internal politics of his organization. While polite enough, I generally avoided the bandits - as I called them when I was alone, or with Nurse - but I couldn't avoid the fact the Mad Dog was losing his mind, and that the organization was heading for upheaval. At some point I was approached in my tent by a large fellow, whom I later realized was the leading competitor for the Dog's position. He said some things about me staying safe, that a lot of people might get hurt and that I'll have work on my hands, that he trusts me, and he handed me a bottle from the brewery. It was the primary part of the Mad Dog's operation and I was entitled to as many as I liked, but I appreciated it anyway.
 
The uprising did not go well.
Indeed, I had a lot of work that night. Lots of amputations. At some point a couple of Mad Dog's men were stationed in the clinic to keep me and Nurse safe, but more importantly to make sure only the Dog's men are treated. From what I heard later, the dissenters misjudged how many were still loyal to the boss, and their little coup was crushed with extreme brutality. A group of them made it to the Dog's private chambers, where he slept through the ruckus. They shot him at close range, but the grape-sized shot bounced off him. It was a terrible time to find out the boss sleeps in full armor, impossibly hot as it is. When they approached further, he woke up.
None of that group survived.
 
I was tasked with handling those that did. An ear, an arm, a leg, a finger, depending on what they intended to do and what they did. Cut, cut, cut, sterilize, sterilize. It felt wrong. I wasn't hired to do this. I never said it aloud, but I think Nurse felt this way too. This was bad. Even the loyalists started mumbling about these punishments, not to mention the brutal public executions. The Mad Dog truly was going mad. Rumors that he cannibalized one of the traitors started to surface, and he made no attempt to stop them. I had my doubts...
And then the order came.
 
The boss wants me to skin this human corpse. He doesn't trust the butchers and tanners with it, he thinks they'll mess it up. I'm to do it and then extract as many bones as possible as well. The Dog decided to make furniture out of one of his opponents. When they brought in the corpse, Nurse twitched, or made a nervous motion, I don't know -
They cut her down. Just like that. The twitch made one of them grab a scalpel and put an end to her, then they dragged her outside to one of the many, many graves. I failed to react at all. Absolute and total shock.
 
Weeks passed. I've been drinking more and more heavily. More and more people died under my knife, probably because of it. Occasionally another corpse came for 'extraction'. I felt like I was reaching my limit. I couldn't drown it in alcohol anymore. This has to stop, I have to stop. I requested audience with the Mad Dog.
Denied.
I went for a walk instead. I walked the better part of a day, and found a nice hill with a tree on it. I sat in the shade, closing my eyes, and then the bell rung.
I let it ring.
 
The day turned to night, and nothing happened. They don't care. Nobody cares. I sure don't. I took a small pouch with me when I left. A small bottle for my nerves, and a scalpel. Drink... and now take out the blade, try not to shake, go for the throat...
Got it.