A shadowy Doctor estranged from professional practice cutting his way in Boulder.
Virtue: Justice Vice: Pride Concept: Repo Man/Field Medic/Back Alley Surgeon Seeming: Wizened Kith: Chirurgeon Court: Spring
Attributes: Int:3 Wits:3 Resolve:2
Strength:1 Dex:3 Stamina:2
Presence:2 Manipulation:3 Composure:2
Mental Academics:3 Crafts:1 Medicine:(Emergency Care) 4 Science:3
Physical Brawl:1 Stealth:1 Survival:2
Social Empathy:1 Expression:2 Intimidation:2 Persuasion:1 Streetwise:1
Contracts: Glamour of Repair:1 Growth of Ivy:2 Cupid’s Eye:1 Gift of the warm breath:1 New Lover’s Kiss:2
Merits: Hollow:1 Mantle:2 Harvest Emotions:1 New Identity:1
Size:5 Speed:9 Defense:3 Armor: Initiative Mod:5 Experience:13
Inventory: Medical Bag, handbag style Portable Surgery Kit in folded leather Laudanum Penicillin Reusable syringe kit Bandaging Material cell phone spectacles tight fitting leather gloves
I, Joseph Warren (known as Joe to my parents), was born in 1904 an only son of a wealthy family. I was doted on constantly and life was easy. By nine years old I had made the decision to follow in my fathers footsteps and become a doctor. While my strong drive and determination allowed me to excel in my education while simultaneously teaching me to be awkward in nearly every social situation. Yet, this very same awkwardness allowed me the time to study. It was a vicious cycle.
Shortly after High School I was accepted to an Ivy League University and embarked on the long road to degree in Medicine. I attended Harvard University of Medicine and graduated in the top ten percent of my class. From there I proceeded to Columbia University to study the budding new science of Neurosurgery under the tutelage of Anton Eiselsberg.
Determined to spend my residency at home, I transferred to the newly founded Denver Hospital in order to make a name for myself as a neurosurgeon. World War One had come and gone while I was in school and the sight of all the wounded who had returned filled me with uneasiness. Human life was fragile, and I was a tinkerer in the clockwork that kept the body running, and these poor souls were broken beyond repair. The demand for medical attention was so great and the number of doctors so few that I often served as a fill in for other wards and had very little time for my own research.
It was a frustratingly busy day the day my life changed. I had left the hospital, coat slung over my arm and feet headed toward the nearest pub when, in my rush, I nearly bowled him over. The man in the dark coat and hat merely smiled.
He was tall, unnaturally so, and his smile seemed to large on his face. The eyes were deep and colorful in a distracting way. Simply trying to meet those eyes caused me to forget my hurry and become calm instantly. “Come with me,” he said as he gestured toward the open car door. “I’ve been following your research and this place can’t give you what you deserve. We can.”
There was no hesitation in his statement, no uncertainty. Simply, it was the truth and his confidence made me know it also. I nodded and slid into the seat, folded my coat across my lap and waited for the sales pitch to continue. In all honesty, he didn’t need to continue, I would have done anything to leave that place.
We went to a much nicer bar than any I could afford and he fed me drinks asking question after question about my research. The idea never dawned on me that I had never published my research. It was all in my office in journals that lay in the top drawer of my desk. Yet, after seven or eight drinks and several rather long explanations later I was anxious for the offer and nearly interrupted him with my answer long before he had even finished his question.
I would join him at his mountain research center, and would most definitely head a team of researchers. Most definitely would i start in the morning, as a matter of fact, I would be happy to go for a tour of the facilities this very instant.
I don’t recall the moments between that statement and the moment I set foot out of the car, but the building lay directly before me. Large and ornate, the stone faced building cut an imposing facade in the night. The door made of hardwood and painted bright red loomed from the center, like an open mouth and as I stepped inside it closed behind me with a finality that I could never forget.
I hope I can edit this later… cuz I’m not done but I want to add more later.