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    1. Cain796 8 yrs ago

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"Alright," Quackshot said, cautiously kneeling back down to the body. How Niklas spoke made him nervous. Was he seeing something that I'm not?

"I don't recognize this man," Quackshot began examining the corpse aloud once the rest of the patrons had exited, save Ronnie and Niklas. "I'm pretty good at remembering my patients, so he was either healthy enough to not need me, sought help elsewhere for his wounds, got into a hospital or clinic, or I never paid him any mind if our paths did cross." Quackshot shrugged. "He could also be new to the Gutter, I don't know.

"His complexion and heartrate were standard for any dying man of about his age that I have dealt with. Aside from his fresh wounds, he seemed pretty tough in terms of health. His old scars healed nicely, though I don't know what exactly caused them, of course. His blood looks to be a good, healthy consistency and color."

Quackshot cocked his head at Niklas questioningly. His mask made facial expressions pointless, so body language had to take over.

"The only things wrong I can see with this corpse are the lattices of new cuts on his arms and the trajectory of the bullet that killed him. My guess is that he was shot by someone who was either on the ground or on a lower level." He paused, his eye catching on the glint of the gun in the man's jacket. In his haste to play doctor with a dying patient, Quackshot had overlooked the weapon. He gestured to the gun and added, "I don't believe the Rats usually carry these, right?"
Just as he had finished asking Niklas for another drink, Quackshot turned to see a familiar face barge in with a bleeding man slumped over her shoulders like a sorry sack of potatoes.

"Ronnie?" he asked as she slammed the dying man onto the chair next to Quackshot and went off to sit by the Dustin Brothers and collapse onto the bar in apparent exhaustion. He flew into action and slid the man onto the floor next to his satchel. "Sorry, Niklas! Dying men call! I'll clean it all up once I'm done."

Dr. Quackshot set to work checking the man's pulse in various places and inspecting his wounds. The cuts on his arms looked like stitches would suffice, but the gunshot to the abdomen looked less promising. There was no exit wound for the bullet, meaning it was still lodged in his body somewhere. Judging by the odd shape of the entry wound and the amount of blood gushing from that area, the bullet probably hit something vital, though Quackshot wouldn't know what for sure without an actual hospital with proper equipment.

Quackshot tore off the man's shirt and used it to soak up some of his blood around the wound, but it was not very effective. Casting the now bloody rags aside, Quackshot pulled out a tiny medical scope and light to inspect the wound. With a free hand, he gently probed around the wound to determine the path of the bullet. He guessed it was lodged in the man's stomach and likely passed through his intestines. He cocked his head and leaned close to the wound, wiping the blood away as best he could and focusing on his sight. The wound seemed to enlarge and clear itself out for Quackshot to gaze into the unwelcome hole in this man's side. The bullet had ruptured his intestines, poisoning him with his own digestive juices. Quackshot doubted this man would survive any attempt at surgery in a real opperating room, let alone a surgery on the fly in a Gutter bar.

He took a scalpel and a pair of forceps from his bag and prepared to cut into the man. Quackshot poured some of his emergency whiskey in the man's throat and massaged his neck to make him swallow it. Then he gave a shot of morphine, too, just for good measure. Satisfied with the shoddy anesthesia, Quackshot began to cut into the man to retrieve the bullet.

He enlarged the entry wound and plunged the forceps in, clamping them together like the hunger mouth of a newborn chick awaiting its mother to return with food. It was easy to find and pull out the bullet, the the geyser of blood that followed was much more difficult. The bullet was lodged in a main blood vessel in the outer lining of the stomach, plugging some of the bleeding. Once it was removed, the blood could flow more freely.

The man bled out and died before Quackshot could plug him up again. It was a wonder to him that such a wound did not kill this man sooner, even that he lasted through who knows what to get to the bar.

Quackshot got up and collected a mob bucket from the closet at the far end of the establishment and started cleaning the blood.

"Sorry about this mess, Niklas." He turned to face Ronnie, the mob slowly sliding in figure-eights on the bloody tile floors. "Ronnie, why did you throw a dying man into a chair? You could have at least left him on the floor. That jostling about might have cost him his life and, I assume, your payment from whatever job you two were doing."
"Oh?" Quackshot looked back at Niklas. "No, no one is bothering me as far as I know. Thank you for the offer, though. You are a very kind man, as are the Dustin Brothers, very kind men. Things are always battling me for my attention, it seems."

He drained his stein.

"It's a habit I picked up when I was just a fledgling doctor. The old crones and condors always harped about being hyper-alert to one's surroundings. Something about being ready to swoop in to help a patient, but they used a lot of old-timey slang from long before any of us in this bar were born."

He set the stein before him and asked, "Could I get another, please? Thank you."
Dr. Quackshot uttered a nervous chuckle. He didn't want the opportunity to come knocking while he was around. He was not a fight; he never had been. Fighting was the exact opposite of what he did for a living.

"Right," he took another long drag from his straw. "Let's hope that that opportunity knocks in a beneficial way for you." He lowered his voice again. "Please don't speak too ill of Mr. Pinky and his gang right now. We don't know when or if those Bubblers will return and I'd rather not have them open fire because they heard us talking like that."

He shook his head again, tossing more thoughts away. After years to collecting rumors and gossip as forms of payment, Quackshot knew too much and could possibly barter for his life should he need to. He hoped he would never have to, but he decided not to worry about that now. There was no reason to worry about having extra chickens before he ever had the eggs that would hatch into said chickens. He shook his head, again, but this time it was to refocus his thoughts.

"Never mind," he whispered, cocking his head to look quickly around the establishment. He wanted to take one of his honey lozenges, but he couldn't without removing his mask. He drank again from his stein. Nothing he thought was making any sense to him. It was jumbling up.

A glint of light caught on another patron's glass and attracted Quackshot's attention. He stared off into space, slowly sipping from his straw.
Quackshot raised his stein. "That's for sure." He lowered his voice and added, "Are you alright? You seem to be having a gaggle of geese walking your grave. Here, take this tonic lozenge. It'll ease your nerves a bit and it taste like honey. Well, that's because it pretty much is just a lump of honey, but it works just the same as a tonic beverage!" He chuckled and pulled a small, tin box from his satchel. The lid was embossed with a flock of birds flying in a "V" formation to the upper left corner. Inside was a collection of hard candies in colorful wrappers of crimson, tangerine, gold, pine, teal, and violet. He plucked out a gold candy and handed it to Lyra before closing the tin and stowing it away in his bag again.

He sipped from the straw again as he placed the lozenge on the bar near Lyra's drink.
Dr. Quackshot sat reclined in his booth, a stein of Sparkling Swamp Water (a mixture of soda, malt liquor, and whiskey) sitting before him with a curly straw standing resolute within. How else is he supposed to drink his alcohol without removing his bird mask and hood? Granted, it was an oddly named drink and tasted funny, but Quackshot liked the clashing flavors. They kept him awake and on his toes.

He kept to himself and watched the other patrons like a hawk. Almost all of the other patrons had been patients of his at one time or another. He noticed Lyra at the bar fidgeting, though about what he wasn't sure. She should try a tonic for the nerves, he thought. He was quite fond of Lyra and the work she was doing in the Gutter and she made a great ally with ThysenKrüpp running around... but that was not a huge, pressing concern at that very moment. He shook his head once, tossing the thoughts that dared to follow away.

The Bubblers started to raise their voices, which caught Quackshot's attention. His eyes followed slowly as Niklas approached the rowdy table, and then watched as the Dustin Brothers also approached. As much as he wanted to help Niklas throw out rowdy patrons, Quackshot knew he shouldn't get involved unless someone got injured. Despite the unease he knew Niklas felt towards him, Quackshot did admire the man. Ssideways glances and general hesitance are always signs of unease, Quackshot thought, but he's a nice man, respectable, and probably much stronger than me and I would not like to be on his bad side if I can help it. He listened in on the discussion and watched the Bubblers leave in a huff. As a doctor, as Dr. Newton Cuttle, he was not supposed to turn away patients, but as Dr. Quackshot, there were some patients he was always nervous about treating or getting involved with. Mr. Pinky and the Bubble Gum Gang worried him because of their human trafficking. He didn't know the conditions of their victims and could only imagine how poor in health they all were. He shook his head once, again, to toss the thoughts away.

He took a long drag on his curly straw, feeling the crawling, sweetly spicy beverage roll around his tongue. He winced as he swallowed, but no one else saw it behind his mask.

He waited for Niklas to go back behind the bar before taking his stein in hand and approaching the bar next to Lyra. He nodded politely to those present and asked aloud, "Is everything alright, Niklas?" He took a seat next to Lyra and took a sip from his straw again.
Name: Newton "Newt" Cuttle, aka Dr. Quackshot
Age: 36
Height/Weight: 5'10" 170 lbs
Appearance:




Geneform: Enhanced sight
Cybernetic Mods: None
District of Origin: Lived in the Hub District, but now goes between the Medical and Gutter Districts
Equipment: Med-kit, mask, various phials of drugs, flask of whiskey

Skills:
Proficiency:
~Medicine
~Surgery
General Aptitude:
~Manipulation
~Barter
~Insight
~Awareness

Backstory:
Newton Cuttle was born to a couple of geneticists in the Hub District. At a very young age, Newt's parents decided to try their hands at geneform modifications with him as a guinea pig. The modification was a success and gave Newt enhanced sight. He never fully realized until he was older that his sight was greater than an average person.
His parents later forced Newt to study medicine to follow in their footsteps. They hoped that his success in the field would bring some kind of recognition to their family. Unfortunately for them, Newt had his sights set on helping himself rather than the family.
The people living in the Gutter District needed health care, too, even if they couldn’t afford it. While in medical school, Newt started to venture into the Gutter District to survey the black marketeers and the customers and clients they served. The money exchanged there was catching Newt’s eye.
He donned a bird mask he made, called himself Dr. Quackshot, and set up a small little stop in the Gutter District selling drugs and offering medical and surgical help to those who needed it. People paid a hefty sum of cash for the drugs and paid for their medical visits with gossip and information. If a patient didn’t have the money to pay for a full procedure, Dr. Quackshot would claim a favor from the person. Some of Quackshot’s more intimidating and repeated customers gave him protection from the authorities or other dangerous individuals in exchange for his drugs and medical attention. It was a pretty fair deal for Newt, who never really learned how to fight others.
Being Dr. Quackshot was a decent side job for Newt while he continually cycled through classes in med-school. The mask he wore in the Gutter District protected his identity, making it easy for him to live his double life. Once he graduated from med-school, Newt became a full doctor at a hospital on the edge of the Medical District close to the Gutter. Despite having a busy job as a doctor, Newt still managed to find the time to help the people who needed him in the Gutter as Dr. Quackshot.
Working in the Gutter District had its perks. Newt learned the subtleties of interpersonal relations and communication, often managing to barter for the best payment from his patients and clients. Why shouldn’t Newt learn such tricks of his trade? He was providing many people in the Gutter the drugs and medical attention they so desperately need.
He often met some of his clients at the Rotten Plug in the Gutter District. It was a populated place and offered some veil of safety for the drug-dealing doctor…
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