MEDIC! - Trauma-Team Quest: A Cyberpunk 2020 MedTech Adventure

Negotiating with a Fixer is always a fraught business for Edgerunners. It's in a Fixer's best interest to keep information from the Runners - to protect the client, to protect their investment, to protect the runners themselves - and ferreting out what information one needs to know to stay alive, and what information one doesn't need to know is a stressfu, sometimes dangerousl process. You can think back to nights in Club Atlantis, watching quietly while your team of the night verbally fenced with their Fixer in a swirling cloud of double-entendre and need-to-know.

Negotiating with a Fixer as a client, however, is blissfully simple. Mdm. Butterfly, once she's done complementing your outfit of all things, straightens her spine and gets right down to business. What do you want? When do you want it? How much are you willing to pay? What else are you willing to pay to see the job through? The both of you speak the concise lingua-franqa of grey market mercenary contractors, so the conversation is refreshingly swift and free of bullshit. You go back and forth on exactly how close to the Edge you want to go - Butterfly pressing you for the faster, illegal options, and you pressing right back. It's effectively a contract negotiation.

With gangsters.

Still, that doesn't mean things are easy.

"My dear, need I remind you, you came to us," Butterfly says primly, while Bounce dutifully pours you both a pot of tea, as negotiations press on. "There is such a phrase as "Beggars cannot be choosers."

You flash a tight-lipped smile. "On this point Madame, I must insist. Maelstrom cannot be a viable parts source - I don't want my patients facing reprisals from any survivors or gearheads who recognize their tech on the street."

The older woman concedes the point, batting it away with a flutter of manicured nails. "There's no harm in exploring our options, Doctor Baudin." A teacup rises to her lips, and you match it. A part of you wonders how a woman like her rose to such a position of prominence within the Brothers - just as the soft light of the room catch on the monowire threading port at the base of her palm. Probably violently.

"But lets leave behind such mundane details for now, Doctor - You want things legal and fast, and while certainly a difficulty, such things are not impossible. For the right price."

You grimace, and get ready for the worst, only to be presently surprised. Then worried.

Madame Butterfly is offering you a deal. Practically market-price for the whole job, with only a whisper of profit for her and her runner.

Human Perception+Int Check: DC 15 (1d10!+8+5 = (4)+8+5 = 16) Success!

Your hackles rise, but as the two of you talk riders and collateral and modes of credit, the Madame's motives slowly become clear. She wants your clinic to succeed, for whatever reason, and she wants you specifically to think favorably of her. You are a little too tired to put the pieces together beyond that, however.

Maybe Mister Lee Senior has some ideas.

Madame Butterfly Reputation Revealed: +4 - "A piece in future schemes - but a woman of class."

At last, you shake. It'll still hurt you a bit, but nowhere near what you were dreading. Some credits, and Bounce's maintenance and anti-rejection prescriptions covered for a three-month period. You can eat that if you have to. Butterfly draws up a pseudo-contract for her files, you transfer the credits from the Clinic's accounts to a blank, traceless dead drop somewhere in the Matrix... and it's done.

Her irises flicker a rich royal purple as the transfer concludes, and her smile turns genuine for the first time this morning.

"Thank you Doctor. It's best you not know the full details of where we go from here - but I can promise you your product in a few days," The woman sets the datasheet with your agreement down on her desk and glances at her hulking, faceless assistant. "Bounce, dear, you have the Doctor's orders. See it done."

The masked mercenary nods, offering a digital "o7" and a polite bow to you before soundless exiting, servos in his legs beginning to whirr and uncoil in preparation for a day's work.

The sun has been steadily creeping up the skyline for nearly three hours by the time your business with the Tong concludes. You don't remember making it home, and have only the fuzziest recollection of cuddling into Widget's embrace atop the upstairs Queen you share together before the mother of all adrenaline crashes sets in.

---

True to her word, your wife lets you sleep in. And, still true to her word, mercilessly denies you any type of caffeine or stimulant that you could use to defog your muddled and overclocked brain and get back to work. Your first memory of the new day is being smacked in the face with a steaming hot, paper-wrapped bagel-bacon-egg-and-cheese from Bruno's in Studio City as Widget flonks into bed beside you. A "Rise and Shine, Sleepyhead!" sticker has egregiously supplanted the greasy logo. Worst still, she has coffee, and takes some small glee in denying it to you in your time of need.

She could have had a career as a supervillian, you swear.

You love her so much.

---

Humanity returns to you under a stream of pressurized hot water, your shower washing away the muck of the last day and unknotting some of your muscles as you stare at the tiled wall. Your water is paid for, but you like to keep the timer on so you don't overindulge in the well of hot water. Today, however, you run the clock out as far as it can go, and you step out of the shower clean and ready to face the rest of the day.

You pad downstairs into the clinic, dressed in freshly laundered clothes. Candy stops you on the way in. "Doctor. That man, the p-" she pauses. "The Media. He is still here. He will not leave." she says, gesturing towards the waiting area. There sits Osiris. 8:30am and dressed in a suit without a tie and mirrorshades. Was... was he here all night? Oh great, and he has coffee too.

"Mornin' Doc." The media toasts you with a wry smirk. "You're looking well this morning." You catch your reflection in the gleam of his mirrorshades - the shower helped, but the circles under your eyes need a few more days before they'll fully fade. "I'm here about that interview we discussed. You got time for little 'ol me today?"

"Let me finish the rounds, Osiris. I didn't get my coffee today. Come back in a couple hours?"

"Preeeem." He drawls, hand going in his pockets as he stands. "I think I'll go for a stroll, see what's open. You know how to reach me." he says, making a phone with his fist and shaking it.

---

MedTech+Int Check: DC 20 (1d10!+8+8 = (9)+8+8 = 25) Success 5 over DC! Great Success!
Five Crosses Clinic has a notedly higher rate of casualty survival than most emergency clinics faced with the Black Lotus Bombing crisis. +1 Rep with All City Districts

You haven't had to do honest-to-God patient rounds since you were a med student. Widget and Candy haven't done them either, so in the name of On-The-Job Training, the three of you roam in a gaggle through the beds, Candy and Widget doing as you instruct them while you oversee and chat with the patients who are awake.

All of that overtime (and, you suspect, the press-ganging of a TraumaTeam crew) has paid off. If they made it to a bed, they're still alive in some fashion or another. You begin working down the triage list - discharging those who can be let go, and softly talking through next steps with those too injured to be moved. Plenty of people ask about vision replacements, and you grit your teeth and dissemble as best you can. You don't discharge anyone fully blind if you can help it - for some of them it's just too late though, their nerves are fried to the point that nothing short of regrowing the optic nerves will fix it. Which SV-11 prevents - you did a little more reading over breakfast. Being blind hasn't isn't a novel concept, and if the state doesn't support them their communities can try to. But it's another reminder that whoever set out to do this wanted to hurt people - and ensure all the wonders of modern medicine couldn't put them together again.

Once Widget and Candy get a handle on the process, you turn them loose to their respective jobs and fall into a pattern from there. Clean the wounds, update the charts, make sure nobody flatlines. It's not a cheery atmosphere, but it's no longer dire. You're in the wrap up now.

A few things stick out in your mind - some of the more seriously injured have begun to have their insurance coverage preemptively declined. Including the girl that Car No. 39 brought it. She's still in her coma, alongside that kid Kai's sister Isa, so you let it be for now, but the eventual bill... is going to hurt. She had priority, that much you're sure of, they rolled in trying to use Section 12.C as a bludgeon to get you to treat her. Why did the buck stop here all of a sudden?

Kai hasn't moved from his sister's side since you gave him the clearance to start walking around again, a gauze pad wrapped 'round his missing eye. A familiar mix of guilt and worry you know from the aftermath of so many emergencies etched deep in his face.

"Doctor?" He's noticed you lingering.
"How can I help you, Kai?"
"...I need to get home. I've... I've got a brother. He's probably waiting for word. But... Can I just-"
"If you don't want to leave, you're welcome to use the landline in my office. And we'll watch over your sister for as long as we're able to, if you need to go home."

He nods quietly, and you lead him to your office, show him how to work the landline, and excuse yourself as he has a tearful conversation in Spanish with the other end. Only to find Osiris in the hall, munching quietly on a breakfast wrap. He tips his imaginary hat again and goes back to eating - the two of you wait in silence til Kai, red-eyed and blinking, returns to you.

"I'm.. I'm going to stay a bit, Dr. Baudin," He says thickly, casting a glance between you and the impassive Osiris. "Maybe see if there's anything I can do to help out. Thank you for letting me use your phone."

You're about to say something about how he really should be resting, and that it's not his job to help, but he's down the hall and out of sight before you can object.

Osiris turns to you expectantly, and you sigh.

---

Action City News Exclusive!

Profile: Hero Doctor of Black Lotus Bombing (Title Pending Focus Group Testing)

By ACN-Bot™ and "Osiris" Kincaid

In the midst of panic, the truly special amongst us are those who can act until immense pressure. One such hero is Doctor Jean Baudin, who in the wave of victims from the tragic bombing of the Black Rose club two days ago, found the underlying cause. Her quick thinking saved the lives of many civilian casualties that day. Her clinic, on the corner of Little China, was a hotbed of activity - from Trauma Team to the waves and waves of infected pouring through the doors.

Jeanne Baudin is a contradictory woman. Sunbaked skin belies a childhood spent in the scorching sun of the California Badlands, but her accent is clipped northern Euro and soft French vowels. Her clothes are designer, but she carries herself with almost military precision in the operating room. When dealing with press or thrust into a crisis she carries herself with an almost frigid steel which melts just as quickly into gentle care when talking to a patient.

I had the opportunity to sit down with her after the chaos had cleared, trying to learn more about what drove this former TraumaTeam surgeon to take up private practice.

Baudin's records indicate she flew Executive Response cars - the elite of the Trauma Team's quick response fleet, and one of the most competitive positions in the company, for nearly two decades without blemish. Under stressful situations, she has been cool and unflappable as only a crisis-response veteran can be. Despite this, she doesn't seem fully comfortable as I set up my interview equipment, fiddling with the seemingly endless mountain of paperwork that has accumulated in the days since the Black Lotus Bombing...

---

You had expected Osiris to talk about your time at Trauma Team, or your time in Paris.

"Where'd you grow up?"

Not your childhood.

"Pardon?"

"As a kid. What was it like?"
You're tucked into your cluttered office with Osiris and his camera across from you. Beetle-black lenses propped up by a few books iris forward and back as you consider.

"Is that... important?"

"I certainly think so. Where we begin from is almost as important as where we end up."

Cracked asphalt, baking under the summer sun. Cicadas hissing in the day, coyotes at night. Empty swimming pools and burb-houses gutted for siding and copper pipes. Dead cars and exhausted people caked in sweat, dust, and desperation. You're dead the moment you take your first breath of the humid scorch. In Night City, at least there's someone to fight for your next meal. Out in the desiccated carcass of Suburbia, there's nobody to fight but heat exhaustion.

The big work project that kept everyone "employed" the summer you were nine was deconstructing the old SuperSplash mega-water park. You'd sit on sticky poured rubber flooring under the shade of the waterslide superstructures as the neighborhood worked on dismantling piping and plastic sheeting one foot at a time. Heat-mirage would rise up from the blinding alabaster white trenches of the dried out wave-pools where they sometimes found bodies.

Skies full of starlight. When was the last time you went stargazing?

"Empty," you find yourself admitting. "Sometimes I'd go to the freeway and watch the old interstate stretch off into the distance for... miles. Til you couldn't see it anymore. Watch tumbleweeds bounce of the old fence-lines. But there was nothing really there for me. Took the first ticket out I could, I guess. Soon as I got my scholarship, I was on a suborbital to Paris."

"You don't miss it?"

"No." You answer immediately. Never. You're done with that place.

"What about the people there? Anyone you miss? Family?"

You stare at him, and he and all his many glass eyes stare back, waiting. Like mirrors.

[ ] [Truth] "...Yes." Sometimes you wonder how they're doing.
[ ] [Truth] "No." You cut ties. You got out. No regrets.

[ ] [Lie] "No." You cut ties. You got out. No regrets. Right?

[ ] [Deflect] "Hardly matters now, does it?" It's not like they'd recognize you anymore.

AN: This vote will define Jeanne's feelings towards her biological family and the rough outlines of their relationship - not wholly, as I've a direction for Jeanne here, but at least her thoughts in this moment.

Osiris seems to see... something in your gaze, and mercifully changes topics. He softballs the next few, easing you back into the swing of things, and you talk about the admission process, at what point you started to think about medicine.

"And that's when you got your scholarship?" He's adjusted one of the cameras to get another angle. You've been talking a while.

"Yes. I was on a suborbital within thirty-six hours of my acceptance."

"Okay. So you got to Paris. What was that like? Many of our readers- they're never getting out of NC. Paint a picture for them."

You close your eyes. Try to paint a picture of the world that you left behind. The corporate wars didn't touch Paris. In some ways - in many ways - it's an altered twin of Night City. Sleeker with heavier corporate influence.

You close your eyes and try to imagine what it was like to be in Paris again. "Paris is long, not tall. I'd never been outside that broken suburbia, so you could imagine the culture shock. There were so many people that I spent the first few days of free time in my room trying to get over my fear of the crowds." You remember how dizzy you felt. The Baudin's gentle encouragement to explore, the eldest girl taking you under her wing to "Show her the sights." The parties and conversations you only realized after the fact were condescending patronism. Bitter memories mixed with more positive ones - a lesson on makeup, tickets to fashion week, all swirl together in your thoughts.

"SAPSAM's campus is massive - dead center of the Paris Sprawl. They produce some of the best Netrunners, the best technicians. 'The Minds of the Future', our Dean said. It's a blisteringly difficult program - double if you were on scholarship. I think I slept maybe five hours a night." you say, grimacing slightly.

"Was it all doom and grindstones?" Osiris asks.
"No." You reply. "The clubs in Paris are fantastic, and the music scene was - well I was lucky enough to be there as Neo-Eave was in fashion." You smile, remembering you and your classmates shopping for clothes, far nicer than the hand-me downs from before. Your new life, painted in silver and chrome. A fresh language on your tongue, a new haircut that felt more like you than you ever had til then. You looked at yourself in the mirror and felt unstoppable.

You're not sure if you capture that in the interview, but you try your best.

From here, the questions get easier, more topical. He even gives you space to talk about your clinic, your early days in Trauma Team - then a fledgling startup - and you break out some "Tell At Parties" stories and they have the desired effect. The chatter comes easily, until...

"So, what made you and your partner decide to do indie? It sounds like you could have stayed there til you retired. What drove you, really, to quit?"

You pause, and look at Osiris. He looks back, his eyes shining with firm curiosity. This is It. The Question.

All those rich bastards. All those people you left in misery on the worst night of their lives, because they hadn't paid your employers specifically. That one horrible Tuesday on the roof of Megablock 17. In your gut, if you're being really, truly honest with yourself... why did you quit?

[ ] Guilt. You couldn't stomach it anymore.

[ ] Rage. You had all this freedom to help people, and all you saw was suffering instead

[ ] Freedom. No rules, no more oversight - your company line was your own.

.----



You walk out of the interview, exhaling a breath you didn't know you had held. You hate cameras, all the more now that they're focused on you in particular. Osiris noted it'd take a day or two for the story to break, and not to worry - he'd make sure you saw a draft before print.

There's a honk from streetside, and an alert ping on your personal comm from Candy.
You peek out of the window next to the waiting room and see the LED Masked enforcer from yesterday stepping out of a truck, another ganger stepping out with him. Seems like the Madame got things done in record time.

You step out to meet the chromed man of the hour, his flatbed truck strapped down with a tarp. He walks round to meet you, unlatching the tarp and lifting it to show you boxes upon boxes of 'ware. The crates are stamped with "Emergency Relief" holomarkers, and contain Arasaka Kuroko G-32 Cybereyes, fresh as you'd hope.You frown a little - the Kuroko line cybereyes are top of the range consumer product, with a range of vision and bio-compatibility support. The rub was, they required anti-rejection drugs. Pretty powerful ones too. They were generally considered bleeding edge stuff.

A quick call around, and you're back to swearing softly under your breath. This is the other shoe, and it's landed square on your damn head.

"It's the same here Jeanne."

Sara Phoenix ran Phoenix Clinic uptown, and you've spent the bleak grey of the following morning comparing notes. She was a successful version of you, practically an institution in her own right, and when you started looking into going indie she was more than happy to talk shop.

"Seems like the corps are breaking out the 'top shelf' not just out of the kindness of their hearts - neuroprenzydine prices ticked up a few percentage points overnight when no one was looking."

And just like that, you have to saddle your patients with long term medical dependency.










Finally, Jeanne has learned from this experience a little, and has had a chance to improve her skills or develop new ones. How has Jeanne developed her skills over this crisis? [PICK TWO]


[ ] Dealing with the gangs and shadows of Little China has made her a little more Streetwise. [+2 to Streetwise]

[ ] SV-11 has forced Dr. Baudin to brush up on her Chemistry knowledge. [+2 to Chemistry]

[ ] Guiding Widget and Candy through this absolute clusterfrag has improved her Leadership. [+2 Leadership]

[ ] Talking to Osiris has given you an intimate look at what kinds of questions get the best answers in Interviews. [+2 to Interview]

[ ] Having to shout down that Trauma Team car has definitely given Jeanne ideas about Intimidation [+2 to Intimidation]

AN: I will never, ever, make any statement about how long an update will take, ever again. Good Lord. I don't wanna talk about it but I'm happy this is out and done and I am so, so sorry it took so bloody long.
Thanks as always to my writing buddy and beta-editor, without whom I'd probably never get anything done.

This is probably going to make my life complicated, but please for this vote, make TWO PLAN VOTES. One for the interview and one for the experience.

2 hour moratorium for discussion, Voting will run maybe a day or two while I gear up for the next arc. There'll be a quick epilogue update where we cover finances and other outcomes of this arc not strictly relating to Jeanne, and check in on some of the side-story characters.