Cadmus strode down the corridor of Central Hospital with great purpose. It was his default manner - with his rigid posture and naturally severe features - brow set, mouth a straight, stony line - few were willing to step in his a path. But the thought of his destination was making his skin crawl, even more than usual. A trail of soft pink flecks scattered in his wake, disintegrating a few moments after landing on the tiled floor. His exposed neck and forearms, from which the flecks had arched, peeled, and dislodged themselves, were spotted with open sores. The sores disappeared as quickly as the fallen flecks.

He pushed through the double doors into a fresh wave of commotion.

The staff gave him a few nods of acknowledgement as he passed. But there were no comments on his shedding. The majority knew better than to ask. Besides, there just wasn’t time for idle chat on a night like this.

Despite the hall being marked for Emergencies Only, it was packed. Doctors and patients alike rushed from room to room to room, cots and stretchers and stands rattling. Even the old heating vents were voicing their complaints. The noise reached a dizzying peak. Cadmus hurried toward the end of the hall, through a storm of coughs, creaks and shouts.

“Make way, make way,” a voice bellowed from behind him as he was nearly mowed down by a stretcher and its three attendants. The man on the stretcher was splayed out like a jellyfish and wheezing heavily.

Cadmus drew himself as close as he could to the wall, which was not very close. A patient was lying in between. The rooms were overcrowded. Without space inside the rooms, cots were being left in the hallway, patient and all. It was beds and bodies all the way down to room 204, where there sat a puddle of greenish bile on the floor. Beside that was a bench where a mother and child were in tears, beside another stretcher in the hall, then a doorway to the overflowing Room 205, a doctor and a small group discussing some business of Room 205, then another bed in the hall and another bench where four children were sitting with a video player, and an elderly woman trying to get past the wall of nurses who were trying to get past the crowd of all others milling in and out of Room 206…

“Make way!” called the same attendant he’d heard earlier, as the trio wheeled the stretcher back in the direction from where they had come. The man on the stretcher was now curled up and moaning.

“Take him to the third floor,” Cadmus shouted after them. “310 to 315 are open.”

There was no discernible response among the cries of ‘make way’ and croak of the wheels, but he saw the group turn around the corner toward the elevators. Cadmus continued down the hall.

In front of 203 he found Axelle. She typically manned the reception area, but this evening appeared to be up on her high-heel clad feet, leading a large and unhappy tour group.

“They’re waiting for you in here,” she said, pressing the door back, and two members of the group were deposited into Room 203. This agitated the remainders.

“Can we get a move on?” demanded a woman at the back of the crowd. “Why did we come here first? I’ve been waiting all night...”

“Can I order food? Where can I buy some food? Do you have a kitchen?” asked a young man behind her. “Where can I prepare my own food? I’ve been waiting an hour, you’ve made me wait...”

“Can we hurry this up? I need the bathroom. Where is the doctor? I want to talk to the doctor, not you.”

“You make me wait 2 hours, and...”

“I’ve been waiting for 3 and a half, so why don’t you wait your turn?”

A woman from 203 emerged, dissatisfied. “Can we have a new room? Can we move him to a quieter floor? The floor is filthy. We need a new room. When can we move?”

An elderly woman piped up, “Where are the Life Fountains? We want the service on hand in case anything happens. You’ve got them, right? I heard you had them-”

“Doctor Cadmus, where is Trae?” Axelle asked loudly, turning away from her following for a moment with a rictus smile.

“Third floor. We’re packed tonight after that Sparrow gang checked in, so all new arrivals are getting sent upstairs.” Cadmus pressed the skin of his jaw in place with his knuckle, and stopped shedding momentarily. “Trae’s in 301 if you need him. But don’t let him smoke anyone without letting me know. No matter how hard the patient - or their kin - asks. Cole’s supposed to be keeping an eye out but I bet he’s stuck in surgery now, so stand firm. Hang in there.”

“Right,” she said with the same quirky little smile, and again he wasn’t sure he had been heard. “I’ve been getting a lot of complaints from the Sparrows, by the way. Everyone’s asking for a better room, and 201’s the biggest we have, but I’m feeling for them a little. You know who they’re rooming with, right?”

Cadmus grit his teeth and gave a dull smile of his own in return. “The Flemings?”

“Yep. The whole strike team is in today, the wife trying to oust other beds as usual so the kids have, ahem, space. Plato’s trying to sort things out but he might need help.”

“Plato is supposed to be upstairs.”

Axelle shrugged. “It’s a rough night. I wouldn’t be surprised if they demanded he come down personally. He made the mistake of letting them know his name, now he’s committed...”

“I’m actually going to have a word with them now.”

“The uncle is lurking around the corners again. He’s ‘accidentally’ made body contact with a couple of nurses.”

“Not again. I’ll get him out of here.”

“And the kid, you know the one who always gets agitated. I feel bad complaining about him, but he’s been wailing for the past hour on and off, and it’s getting everyone worked up. I know he can’t help it, he’s just copying the family, but you know how they are. Having roommates is putting them in the mood for a fight.”

Cadmus rubbed the freshly healed skin on his jaw. “I’ll see what I can do..”

She nodded. “Good luck.”

Cadmus strode on, ever more purposeful and ever more powerfully wishing that he go could lie down in his office, or sit upstairs in the operating theater and silently oversee surgeries like he used to; silent because he wasn’t allowed to speak, only moving when he was told and not and inch more. In those olden days, he had wished for anything but that. He’s wanted responsibility, people coming to ask his advice even when he had none. He had even wished to be the one sent to go and talk to the patients and families, god help his naive young self.

One hundred and seventy seven years ago Cadmus walked through the hospital doors and demanded that they let him give assistance. Looking back, as broad as its scope had become, and painful as some nights were, he had to admit his career was at a relative high. When he first had entered service, there were no known Life Fountains living in the city, let alone working in a hospital. It seemed like the perfect place for him, but the administration had looked upon him as if he were some strange virus, infiltrating their sanctum. It took some scheming and stooping to prove otherwise - he’d essentially offered himself as a piece of trial medical equipment. Of course,  it was out of place for a piece of hospital equipment to think or speak.

So he’d sat at the back of operations with the extra trays and tubing, and waited to be called upon to drop a few skin flakes - aura - into a wound to save some the surgeon time on stitches. That was all, for the time.

Ahead of that lay a long battle: serving several literal wars and the plentiful tragedies beyond them. But a few miracles down the line, and his superiors began to call upon him more frequently. The next iteration of staff began to ask him for advice, for judgment and now, generations later - human generations, that is - he had the authority to run procedures based entirely around Life Fountain treatment.

At present time, half of all hospitals in the Central area had a Life Fountain on call, and from the reports there was talk that LF service would soon become a standard offering. People even asked for them. Sometimes no treatment was even needed, they just wanted to have a look. That was the most baffling, yet flattering part to him. Humans enjoyed having a face and a voice to their life support device (though training bedside manner into native-born Life Fountains was an arduous process), or perhaps it was appealing to be able to simply breathe in or sip some Aura and get better rather than submit oneself to tests and needles.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he also suspected it was just a fad. Humans had become inconceivably clever over the last century, inventing all sorts of devices he’d had never dreamed of, raising all sorts of sensible movements for people and places he had never suspected to exist, uncovered and dismissed all sorts of old magic since they could build faster and better, but there was nothing they loved more than a good story.

Being saved by the blessing of these strange new human-shaped creatures, in new hidden wards of the hospital, that made for a good story. The actual treatment was irrelevant, but the newspapers had a field day, no piece of medical equipment could smile and put their arm around a patient like a Life Fountain could. Central Hospital’s own Trae was especially photogenic to this respect, more than Cadmus had ever been. If you were hoping to tell your friends that you saw some mystical being at the hospital, Trae’s was the picture you were looking for. People weren’t quite so eager to see him outside the ER, but at least inside these walls he had a purpose, and Trae seemed happy with just that. Trae was just shy of 200 years old.

Cadmus knew well that there were dissenters, as there was for everything, but young people were so positive, and he was fairly sure the trend would continue for a while longer.

Fad or not, the Life Fountain movement was sitting at a comfortable phase of existance. Cadmus in particular wasn’t doing too badly, personal grievances aside. With over 100 years of experience on his shoulders, he could speak and, by and large, people would listen - even outside the hospital, now.

If they were the type to listen to anybody. The Fleming family were not of that nature.

Outside Room 201, Cadmus saw the nurse named Plato in his crinkled blue scrubs, hovering above one of the the stretchers that was conspicuously out of its assigned room, adjusting a monitor attached to the bed. There were two more displaced beds beside it. The patients he had moved to the hall remained in their unknowable slumber, their faces cast in cold blue under the fluorescent lights. They waited without complaint, unable to defend themselves. Cadmus’s brow furrowed. His skin began to peel again.

A child’s scream ripped through the hall. Both Plato and Cadmus closed their eyes until it passed. Only it did not quite pass, but petered out into a long, unending whimper.

The room door was partially closed. Inside, Cadmus heard Art Fleming’s fluttering whine, “Put that away and eat your crackers now, honey.” The whining wavered in response. Then a harsh male voice, most likely a member of the Sparrows said, “I wouldn’t wanna eat ‘em either.” Then Chiro Fleming, his voice like gravel, “nobody asked you.”

“Just saying since the lady doesn’t get it after what, twenty tries now? Just shut up and let the kid rock in peace before he starts up again.”

“What’s that, what make you think you can talk to my sister that way? Oh? You wanna go? You wanna try me? I’ll knock your nose through your brain, c’mon.”

Plato raised his head at the sound of the threats. Upon realizing that the only threat was his boss looming over him, his attention flipped to Cadmus. Plato’s eyes were rimmed in dark circles that reminded Cadmus of a kid named Rai.

A half-blooded Life Fountain born in the city (as opposed to migrating from the villages as most did) Rai was one of the youngest charges of the LF Foundation. Rai had not slept a full night since he got out of junior high, and as a Life Fountain this was not particularly concerning, but he had some incredibly alarming eyebags. Now an adult working in some vague capacity with the police, Rai was eager to immerse himself in human matters. He would have been all too willing to ‘try’ Chiro Fleming.

Plato was another story. He shuffled on his feet, helpless as his patients, but reluctant to abandon the beds as they were.

“I was just headed back upstairs,” Plato said. “But I heard the Flemings were at it again, so-” he gestured limply at the stretcher. Cadmus was silent. The occupant of the bed had a plastic mask strapped to their face, connecting to a rasping ventilator.

“It’s a real risk to move this patient.”

Plato muttered, “The family didn’t see why the Sparrow group were allowed three beds while they only had one. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be moving these beds around, but the husband and uncle were already rallying themselves to shove these out and I couldn’t think of any other way...”

“The Sparrows have three people getting care, so they have three beds. The Flemings only have one patient. That’s why they have one bed. What in the world do they need the other two for?”

“Three, actually. And you’ve heard it all. Breathing room. Bad heart. Allergies.” Plato’s white knuckles clasped the bed frame. “I forget which one it is this time.”

Cadmus ran his hand over his face, loosening a flurry of reddish skin petals. “You shouldn’t have had to do this. I’m going to speak to them now. They’ll have to make space, and if they have to be escorted out for the night, so be it.” His phone began to rattle in his pocket. He wondered if Trae was being asked to smoke someone and felt a light tug of jealousy. Still, Trae wouldn’t proceed without his approval, so he’d have to make this talk with the Flemings quick, though he was not sure how that was possible.

“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my child,” came a shriek from inside the room. “DO NOT--”

“I’ll go back upstairs,” Plato promised. “Please, get them to tone it down.”

Cadmus nodded and entered the room just as Art Fleming screamed, “Put that filthy thing away this instant!”

Shortly after, there was a spell of silence from Room 201, the room which had not managed to lower its volume for the past three hours. Nobody came or went, but they all listened very intently, Cadmus included.

After perhaps five minutes, the room erupted into noise again, tearing out and filling the ward with an all-consuming blast. The windows shook, the stretchers excommunicated to the hallway creaked and shifted, comatose patients shuddered in their sleep. Throughout the second floor and a good portion of the third, staff and visitors alike paused in wonder, and terror. Coffee spilled in the waiting room. The surgeon gripped his trays to stop the instruments from rattling out. A nurse stopped and prayed.

The next morning, the Flemings departed from the hospital.