You are Birgit Keller. You are twenty five years old. You graduated well from the Charité...
Nurse Quest [Evangelion]
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Day 1: Red Eyes in Morning - 1
WordsWordsWords
These diagrams of fictional weapons are /wrong/.
- Location
- Boonies of Kyoto Prefecture
You are Birgit Keller. You are twenty five years old. You graduated well from the Charité Universitätsmedizin Berlin. You beat out hundreds of other students for this position. This is your first day of your first week of real work. You are supporting your live-in fiancé, Robert. You need this job. You want this job.
"Well?" asks the crone.
A veteran nurse has just asked you to pour her a cup of coffee. You are sitting down to enjoy your own cup. She is already standing--closer to the pot than you are.
You squint at her nametag. "Angelika Schultz."
Angelika has asked you, twice, to get up and pour her a cup of coffee.
It's four in the morning.
KNOW YOUR SELF.
What do you do?
[ ] Get the crone her coffee.
[ ] Don't get the crone her coffee.
[ ] ??? (Write In)
-----
[Posts every 24 hours, on average.]
"Well?" asks the crone.
A veteran nurse has just asked you to pour her a cup of coffee. You are sitting down to enjoy your own cup. She is already standing--closer to the pot than you are.
You squint at her nametag. "Angelika Schultz."
Angelika has asked you, twice, to get up and pour her a cup of coffee.
It's four in the morning.
KNOW YOUR SELF.
What do you do?
[ ] Get the crone her coffee.
[ ] Don't get the crone her coffee.
[ ] ??? (Write In)
-----
[Posts every 24 hours, on average.]
Last edited:
- 2
WordsWordsWords
These diagrams of fictional weapons are /wrong/.
- Location
- Boonies of Kyoto Prefecture
[X] Give her an "Are you serious?" look.
You look her straight in the face, let your half-lidded eyes droop to a quarter, imagining her pudgy smirk is getting crushed against the solid flesh of your dried out eyeballs, and turn back to your coffee.
Angelika waddles over to you.
"Young lady, I don't think you heard me. I'd like some coffee."
You give her your quarter eye again, dropping it to an eighth. You take a swig of coffee from your mug.
Angelika goes red. "Young lady!" she yells. She's opens her mouth to continue, but then squints at your chest. "Keller!" she growls. "I won't take this kind of disrespect from a girl who hasn't even been here for two hours. I don't know what kind of ideas you got about this profession in work experience, but this is how things work. I am how things work. How things work is that you get me a goddamn cup of coffee."
You say nothing as a frowning spectre in a white coat has stepped through the entrance to the break room. This particular one has voluminous dark red hair, towers over both you and the hag, and looks as if she quit both modeling and women's rugby in order to become the Director of Gehirn's medical center, as signified by her nametag, "Dr. Petra Richter: Director." Her brown eyes are boring into Angelika's head, far below her, while the woman continues to scream about the respect she's due from you.
What do you do?
[ ] Let this keep going. Let hot coals rain on her head.
[ ] Formally greet the Director.
[ ] (Write In)
You look her straight in the face, let your half-lidded eyes droop to a quarter, imagining her pudgy smirk is getting crushed against the solid flesh of your dried out eyeballs, and turn back to your coffee.
Angelika waddles over to you.
"Young lady, I don't think you heard me. I'd like some coffee."
You give her your quarter eye again, dropping it to an eighth. You take a swig of coffee from your mug.
Angelika goes red. "Young lady!" she yells. She's opens her mouth to continue, but then squints at your chest. "Keller!" she growls. "I won't take this kind of disrespect from a girl who hasn't even been here for two hours. I don't know what kind of ideas you got about this profession in work experience, but this is how things work. I am how things work. How things work is that you get me a goddamn cup of coffee."
You say nothing as a frowning spectre in a white coat has stepped through the entrance to the break room. This particular one has voluminous dark red hair, towers over both you and the hag, and looks as if she quit both modeling and women's rugby in order to become the Director of Gehirn's medical center, as signified by her nametag, "Dr. Petra Richter: Director." Her brown eyes are boring into Angelika's head, far below her, while the woman continues to scream about the respect she's due from you.
What do you do?
[ ] Let this keep going. Let hot coals rain on her head.
[ ] Formally greet the Director.
[ ] (Write In)
Last edited:
- 3
WordsWordsWords
These diagrams of fictional weapons are /wrong/.
- Location
- Boonies of Kyoto Prefecture
[X] Formally greet the Director.
"It doesn't matter that I asked for coffee! It's the fucking meaning of the thing. What you are, and who I am. I-"
You push back your chair and stand ramrod straight, looking up and beyond Angelika. "Good morning, Director," you say.
Angelika, slow on the uptake, opens her mouth to scream at you again, probably for trying to mock her by pretending that one of the most powerful medical professionals in Germany, their boss, was standing behind her.
"Feel free to call me Doctor Richter, Miss Keller," the Director growls, not looking at you, still drilling her pupils into the bulbous woman's padded skull.
Angelika slowly turns on her heel and freezes, holding her arms out unnaturally to the side. She's silent.
"Schultz," says Richter.
'Schultz' continues to say nothing.
"I have work to do with Keller today. Wait outside my office until that work is complete. I expect to see you there."
Angelika nods ponderously, then waddles out, not risking a glare back. A few moments later, after the sound of her shuffling shoes pass through a set of double doors, Richter shifts out of her solid stance and smirks at you.
"You want more coffee, Keller?" she asks.
"Yes, Ma'am." You hold out your mug. She takes it and tisks you.
"None of that," she says while pouring into your cup, "That kind of talk was fine in the interview process, but we're going to be coworkers for the foreseeable future. Formality would be a problem," she hands you back your coffee. "Call me Petra," she says.
You take a sip. "OK, Petra," you say.
The Director nods, smiling. She moves to a cupboard above the coffee maker and pulls out a mug. It's covered with pictures of chubby cartoon monkeys. After she's done pouring her own cup, she starts walking out of the lounge and motions you to follow her.
After a few minutes of walking down dimly lit halls with your new boss, who is towering over you, you reach two MIBs guarding a fingerprint scanner, which has your prints on file and beeps in acknowledgement that you are who your nametag claims you to be. The scanner opens a set of double doors, which then lock heavily behind you, thick deadbolts shifting into place one by one by one.
The two of you are now in your new shared workspace. It was described to you in general terms after you were informed you were being offered a sensitive placement, but this is your first time here in person. It's a very short hallway. At the opposite end is a set of doors identical to the ones you just passed through, and, you assume, another set of guards.On your left is all of what you and the Director need, two small bedrooms, another room with an economy kitchen, a storage closet, a cleaning station, computer terminal, and another storage area with medical equipment. Two phones are attached to the wall. One is black. One is red. The red phone is the only distinct source of color in the room.
On the right is a hospital room, like any other room in the building, except for the locked door and bulletproof glass.
The Director continues to motion you forward and she draws you into the kitchen, where a small pull-down table for two has already been set with two light plastic chairs. There's already a steaming pot of coffee on the counter.
"You want a refill, Keller?" she asks.
"Yes," you say, handing her your mug. "Thank you, Ma'am."
"You can't help that formality, can you?" she asks.
"I'm not used to any other way," you say. "If it is a problem, I can change my behavior."
"Can I at least call you Brigit?" she asks.
"Sure." A beat passes. "Petra."
"Very good." The Director slides your cup across the table and sits down with her own. After a few gulps, she puts it down and entwines her hands over a folded knee. "OK. We're 'on' in roughly thirty minutes. Now," she leans toward you across the table, "I already know you understand this, or else I wouldn't have hired you. Just to review: no details of today, or any other day you're in here, not even in generalities. Don't talk about the nature of your job--at all. To anyone. Don't lie and say you work somewhere else in the building. Don't repeat a single conversation, no matter how trivial. Just stay silent."
"Right," you say.
"Good," she says. "Now I can finally tell you what we're doing. Obviously, it's a highly sensitive patient."
"Right." If the double locked hallway with no fire exit in a hospital owned by a military research organization doesn't give it away, the men outside with matte black automatic weapons will.
"Here is the situation. One of our best scientists was injured while working on a highly sensitive secret weapons system." She takes a thick manilla folder out of a file on the wall, flips it open, and pushes it toward you. It has a picture of a pretty middle aged woman with long red hair, stapled on top of a ream of charts and files.
'Kyoko Zepplin Soryu.'
The Director continues. "This accident resulted in significant brain damage. Now, all of these aspects, the severity of her injury, the type of injury, and her knowledge, make it impossible to care for her in any other way than to have her under the best care, and supervision, we can provide." She takes another gulp of coffee. "The fact that I've been assigned to be a doctor again, after being an administrator for so long--because of my security clearance--and that I've been told to take on a new 'apprentice,' so to speak, just for this project, should demonstrate how serious this is. She could say something in her sleep. She could die suddenly. She could have a moment of clarity and tell an empty room all her secrets."
She puts her cup down, finished, then gets up and pours herself another cup. She looks over at your cup, untouched, shrugs, and starts talking again while she puts the pot back on the burner. "So--why you? Why bring a recently graduated student into such a sensitive project?"
You had been asking yourself that. You don't make mention of it. The Director returns to her seat.
"You qualifications speak for themselves. Highly recommended by the military. Family background in the BND. Near perfect scores in classes and practical experience. You were born for a job like this."
You tend to think so. "Thank you, Director."
She brushes your formality away. "In any case. Gehirn needs people like you. Getting a woman like you this early in your career is a boon to us. We're happy to support you."
"Thank you," you say.
"So," she sighs, "here's the kicker." She leans back and pulls another folder out of the file drawer, but much smaller than the other one. She pushes it toward you. You open it yourself.
Just a security clearance and a photograph. It's a little red haired girl. Last name 'Soryu.'
"Daughter?" you ask.
"Yes," another sigh. "Now, remember, the bosses, apparently, desperately need Doctor Soryu to wake up to any measure of lucidity. So, any and all measures will be taken. A simple one is to have her see her daughter on a regular basis. So, not today, but soon, we will be dealing with having her around for hours at a time."
You narrow your eyes, looking at the girl's photograph.
"I see," you say.
You mind irrationally flashes to your young son for a moment, alone with your boyfriend, before you return to tight professionalism.
After a moment, the Director speaks again. "It looks like something is on your mind, Brigit?"
How do you respond?
[ ] I'm thinking about my son.
[ ] Are we going to be babysitting this girl?
[ ] (Write in)
"It doesn't matter that I asked for coffee! It's the fucking meaning of the thing. What you are, and who I am. I-"
You push back your chair and stand ramrod straight, looking up and beyond Angelika. "Good morning, Director," you say.
Angelika, slow on the uptake, opens her mouth to scream at you again, probably for trying to mock her by pretending that one of the most powerful medical professionals in Germany, their boss, was standing behind her.
"Feel free to call me Doctor Richter, Miss Keller," the Director growls, not looking at you, still drilling her pupils into the bulbous woman's padded skull.
Angelika slowly turns on her heel and freezes, holding her arms out unnaturally to the side. She's silent.
"Schultz," says Richter.
'Schultz' continues to say nothing.
"I have work to do with Keller today. Wait outside my office until that work is complete. I expect to see you there."
Angelika nods ponderously, then waddles out, not risking a glare back. A few moments later, after the sound of her shuffling shoes pass through a set of double doors, Richter shifts out of her solid stance and smirks at you.
"You want more coffee, Keller?" she asks.
"Yes, Ma'am." You hold out your mug. She takes it and tisks you.
"None of that," she says while pouring into your cup, "That kind of talk was fine in the interview process, but we're going to be coworkers for the foreseeable future. Formality would be a problem," she hands you back your coffee. "Call me Petra," she says.
You take a sip. "OK, Petra," you say.
The Director nods, smiling. She moves to a cupboard above the coffee maker and pulls out a mug. It's covered with pictures of chubby cartoon monkeys. After she's done pouring her own cup, she starts walking out of the lounge and motions you to follow her.
After a few minutes of walking down dimly lit halls with your new boss, who is towering over you, you reach two MIBs guarding a fingerprint scanner, which has your prints on file and beeps in acknowledgement that you are who your nametag claims you to be. The scanner opens a set of double doors, which then lock heavily behind you, thick deadbolts shifting into place one by one by one.
The two of you are now in your new shared workspace. It was described to you in general terms after you were informed you were being offered a sensitive placement, but this is your first time here in person. It's a very short hallway. At the opposite end is a set of doors identical to the ones you just passed through, and, you assume, another set of guards.On your left is all of what you and the Director need, two small bedrooms, another room with an economy kitchen, a storage closet, a cleaning station, computer terminal, and another storage area with medical equipment. Two phones are attached to the wall. One is black. One is red. The red phone is the only distinct source of color in the room.
On the right is a hospital room, like any other room in the building, except for the locked door and bulletproof glass.
The Director continues to motion you forward and she draws you into the kitchen, where a small pull-down table for two has already been set with two light plastic chairs. There's already a steaming pot of coffee on the counter.
"You want a refill, Keller?" she asks.
"Yes," you say, handing her your mug. "Thank you, Ma'am."
"You can't help that formality, can you?" she asks.
"I'm not used to any other way," you say. "If it is a problem, I can change my behavior."
"Can I at least call you Brigit?" she asks.
"Sure." A beat passes. "Petra."
"Very good." The Director slides your cup across the table and sits down with her own. After a few gulps, she puts it down and entwines her hands over a folded knee. "OK. We're 'on' in roughly thirty minutes. Now," she leans toward you across the table, "I already know you understand this, or else I wouldn't have hired you. Just to review: no details of today, or any other day you're in here, not even in generalities. Don't talk about the nature of your job--at all. To anyone. Don't lie and say you work somewhere else in the building. Don't repeat a single conversation, no matter how trivial. Just stay silent."
"Right," you say.
"Good," she says. "Now I can finally tell you what we're doing. Obviously, it's a highly sensitive patient."
"Right." If the double locked hallway with no fire exit in a hospital owned by a military research organization doesn't give it away, the men outside with matte black automatic weapons will.
"Here is the situation. One of our best scientists was injured while working on a highly sensitive secret weapons system." She takes a thick manilla folder out of a file on the wall, flips it open, and pushes it toward you. It has a picture of a pretty middle aged woman with long red hair, stapled on top of a ream of charts and files.
'Kyoko Zepplin Soryu.'
The Director continues. "This accident resulted in significant brain damage. Now, all of these aspects, the severity of her injury, the type of injury, and her knowledge, make it impossible to care for her in any other way than to have her under the best care, and supervision, we can provide." She takes another gulp of coffee. "The fact that I've been assigned to be a doctor again, after being an administrator for so long--because of my security clearance--and that I've been told to take on a new 'apprentice,' so to speak, just for this project, should demonstrate how serious this is. She could say something in her sleep. She could die suddenly. She could have a moment of clarity and tell an empty room all her secrets."
She puts her cup down, finished, then gets up and pours herself another cup. She looks over at your cup, untouched, shrugs, and starts talking again while she puts the pot back on the burner. "So--why you? Why bring a recently graduated student into such a sensitive project?"
You had been asking yourself that. You don't make mention of it. The Director returns to her seat.
"You qualifications speak for themselves. Highly recommended by the military. Family background in the BND. Near perfect scores in classes and practical experience. You were born for a job like this."
You tend to think so. "Thank you, Director."
She brushes your formality away. "In any case. Gehirn needs people like you. Getting a woman like you this early in your career is a boon to us. We're happy to support you."
"Thank you," you say.
"So," she sighs, "here's the kicker." She leans back and pulls another folder out of the file drawer, but much smaller than the other one. She pushes it toward you. You open it yourself.
Just a security clearance and a photograph. It's a little red haired girl. Last name 'Soryu.'
"Daughter?" you ask.
"Yes," another sigh. "Now, remember, the bosses, apparently, desperately need Doctor Soryu to wake up to any measure of lucidity. So, any and all measures will be taken. A simple one is to have her see her daughter on a regular basis. So, not today, but soon, we will be dealing with having her around for hours at a time."
You narrow your eyes, looking at the girl's photograph.
"I see," you say.
You mind irrationally flashes to your young son for a moment, alone with your boyfriend, before you return to tight professionalism.
After a moment, the Director speaks again. "It looks like something is on your mind, Brigit?"
How do you respond?
[ ] I'm thinking about my son.
[ ] Are we going to be babysitting this girl?
[ ] (Write in)
Last edited: