ASAP: Chapter 1

Even after six months, the first thing he noticed was the cold metal wrapped around the pillow that was touching his warm hand. And then the alarm clock, ringing to his right.

Groaning, he slammed his hand down on the buzzing alarm and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Six months to the day...and he still felt an initial shock upon waking.

Dustin sighed and shook his head. No point in complaining about it, he thought to himself. It's not like any of this is going away. He wondered how many of his own patients, both past and present, thought the same thing about their own chronic conditions, their own mental and physical states. In a way, it brought him closer to them all. He had always felt empathetic towards his patients, moreso than some of the other physicians he previously worked with, but now... Now he felt he was on their level. He understood the fear of the conditions. Not just the reality, but the fear, the daily nuances of them. He looked down at his hands, which lay lifeless in his lap.

What nice thoughts to wake up to.

His gaze turned towards his prosthetic right arm, and he slowly formed a fist. The movement was smooth. Reopening his hand to reveal the carbon fiber and titanium of his right palm, he realized once again how fortunate he was. His right arm had been almost entirely replaced with metallic, lifeless materials, but it worked smoothly and effortlessly. The titanium of his right arm could twist and turn just the same as the flesh of his left arm. The worst complaint was the coldness of his own body in the morning. But most who had been in his position had suffered worse...or hadn't made it at all.

And here I am now, controlling my own schedule, but waking up at an ungodly hour of the morning, just as before. How some things never change. Dustin groaned and stretched his arms and neck before sliding his legs over the side of the bed. The lights in the room, sensing his motions, slowly began to turn on one by one, until his room was illuminated with a soft, almost sensual yellow glow. He stood on the cold, marbled bamboo floor and crossed the room, his eyes peeking over at the digital alarm clock on his low, wooden night stand. 6:50...just enough time to get ready.

At least he didn't have to drive to work anymore.

He moved out of habit around the room, first entering his bathroom to wash his face, then walking into his massive, circular closet. Shirts and suits surrounded him, while underneath were drawers of pants, shorts, and undergarments respectively from right to left. It was springtime, with the temperatures starting to finally rise, and he decided a nice pair of slacks and t-shirt would suffice. If it became cool, he could simply pull on his white physician's coat and claim professionalism.

It didn't take him long to change, but he still jumped each time his cold, prosthetic arm happened to touch his warm skin. He had quickly learned he hated that the most; he didn't mind the mechanical feel to the arm when working or the occasional glitch that would make him drop a cup of coffee, but damn if he wished it had an internal heating processor. Something that wouldn't make him jump out of his skin so early in the morning. Every single morning.

He checked himself in the mirror. Black slacks, some nice black, leather shoes, and a light blue, button-up t-shirt. A pen in the front breast pocket to look professional. All he needed to do was brush the knots out of his shoulder-length brown hair, then he could walk downstairs, turn the 'CLOSED' sign to 'OPEN,' and become Dr. Dustin Killinger. It was still odd to not clock into a corporate system, but he figured it was just another perk from leaving the company. And after what happened, he needed to count all the perks he could get.

Dustin reached into the bathroom, grabbed the small hair brush off the white, stainless sink, and began descending the long, bamboo stairwell to the first floor. It always felt to him that his house had been built with a first and third story; there was no way the stairwell was short enough to cover just two floors, as it felt it descended for nearly a mile on some days. But it added a bit of privacy and separation to his work and home life. All the better since both now occurred in the same building.

Reaching the ground floor, Dustin passed through an antechamber that served as the house's foyer and clicked a button on the wall. Immediately the chandelier overhead burned alive, illuminating the black leather seats and white tile flooring with a soft, white glow. The paintings of natural scenes hanging on the softly painted walls began to come to life, shifting ever so slightly with the temperature readings of the room. The glass doorway leading out into the city clicked open, and the neon sign that read CLOSED disappeared only to be replaced by a cursive OPEN signature.

There was nobody outside waiting, and no one was sitting in the leather seats. That meant there was enough time for coffee.

Dustin passed by the stairwell and through the living room, which had been turned into a massive receptionist lobby. In the center was a circular, glass receptionist desk, behind which stood an imposing black leather computer chair. Dustin found the remote on the desk and clicked several buttons, flinching ever so slightly as the two televisions on the wall behind him as well as the lights above turned on all at once. The humming of the computer echoed as it, too, booted up, and he walked past everything to pass underneath a double archway into the kitchen and dining room. Already, the keurig was boiling his pot of coffee, and opening the refrigerator, his eyes scanned until they found his coveted creamer.

The keurig clicked, the cup ejected from its holder, and Dustin poured his creamer. It was a well-oiled machine, his home. And he was just as much a cog in it as the televisions, keurig, and closet upstairs. But being a cog in his own home was far more satisfying than being a cog elsewhere, and he couldn't complain about the benefits package the corporation had offered him when he quit. They knew he was going to, they had to have. They would have been foolish otherwise. And with that money, he had set up his nice, little clinic downtown and never looked back.

He wondered what the nurses and physician assistants thought of him now.

Grabbing a protein bar, Dustin took his makeshift breakfast to the receptionist center and plopped down in the computer chair. He shoved the protein bar into his mouth and used his free hands to log into his home computer system, and within seconds, the day's schedule popped up.

A big, fat nothing.

He smirked and leaned back, unsurprised and unfazed. Concierge was a funny beast in this day and age. Elderly people scheduled months in advance, or children of rich families called for acute visits. There was rarely a full day, but that didn't matter in the concierge world of medicine, where patients paid a flat fee upfront for a full year's worth of services. Some days were packed full of elderly patients, each wanting 2-3 hours of his time to review medications, examine any abnormal sensations, and order necessary blood work, ultrasounds, and CT scans. Other days, he would wait for hours for one sick kid.

From the reading on the television, he knew today was going to be an acute sickness kind of day.

"Now a look at today's weather."

The screen turned to a female with long, brown hair that was pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. Her gray eyes were practically shielded behind expensive frames and thick glasses, and a smooth, dark green sleeveless dress seemed to choke her around her neck and collarbone. Behind her was a holographic image detailing the weather report. "Yesterday's storms seem to have passed, and we're looking at a mix of sun and clouds throughout the day. Highs will be in the 16-17 degree Celsius range; lows tonight are scheduled to be around 6 degrees Celsius."

The meteorologist slid her hand across the screen, and it swiped right and immediately faded, replaced instantaneously with a new image. "However, despite the mixture of sun and clouds, it may be we see very little of it today. AQI reports indicate that air quality conditions can be dramatically impacted today, with an onset of smog coming in subsequent to the storms. Readings are currently in the 60-70 range; however, by mid-afternoon, you should expect to see numbers ranging in the 200s. For children and elderly, this means staying indoors as much as you can today. If you need to be outside, be sure to wear appropriate attire and bring an emergency inhaler for worst case scenarios." The woman smiled and glanced to her left. "Back to you, Chris."

Dustin turned the volume down slightly and nodded before sipping his cup of coffee. AQI in the 200 range. Definitely going to be an acute day. I'll need to make sure my mask is prepared. Probably need to double-check the nebulizer case, as well, to make sure it's clean and ready. Sipping at his coffee, he smirked and added, Not 'til I'm done with this, though.

"In today's top story, Coast Medical's CEO Jacob Mason has issued a statement that despite the attack on Coast Medical's Family Practice six months ago, the ASAP serum is still on schedule to be released by the end of this year."

Dustin halted mid-sip. A second female, who had yet to be shown on television, continued reporting.

"The incident occurred 6 months ago after unidentified individuals stormed the clinic, leaving 10 patients dead and 30 people wounded. This number included clinic staff and physicians, many of whom have since resigned." Footage from the incident showing the police officers storming the clinic was being played in the background. "The ASAP, or "Anti-Smog and Air Pollution" serum, had been announced one month prior to the attack and was marketed by CEO Jacob Mason as a miracle of modern medicine, able to immediately treat a respiratory attack with no side effects. With smog levels rising and a growing concern for air pollution, the ASAP serum was seen as the medical response to what is becoming an epidemic problem.

"However, other medical CEOs claim that this ASAP serum cannot possibly exist. One such CEO, Tibert Limson from HPI Institute, has been very public in his condemnation of the serum."

Again, the footage changed, this time to Tibert Limson, an older man with a growing bald spot and crisp gray suit and tie. "Telling people that there is a cure-all for this epidemic is simply irresponsible." His voice was deep and cut through the sounds of people behind him, who were busy taking photos and recording his statement. His words were clear, and he sounded almost staccato in his pronunciations. "There have been slow but steady improvements to the treatment of individuals who suffer from asthmatic or respiratory attacks related to moderate to severe AQI readings as well as sudden onsets of smog. However, until I see the results and reports of this supposed ASAP serum, I will refuse to believe it exists."

The footage returned to a recap shot of the police storming the clinic the day of the incident. The newscaster from before continued, "CEO Jacob Mason has repeatedly argued against such claims and promises the release of the serum by the end of this year. In his statement he reports, "Coast Medical and its staff are working around the clock to ensure that the ASAP serum is ready for release to the general public by the end of 2046. The staff is doing an excellent job despite the public suspicions and outright lies being made. We hope that, within the next year, conditions which have been aggravating the local communities can be seen as nothing more than a mere nuisance. and that the ASAP serum will be able to save hundreds if not thousands of lives. And with the rising prices of medicine, we also promise it will be a cheaper alternative."

Dustin watched as the camera returned to the panel of three newscasters, including the meteorologist. The woman reporting, a middle-aged African American, smiled warmly towards the meteorologist. "Can you imagine seeing those AQI reports and not having to worry about a mask?"

The panel chuckled, and the meteorologist shook her head. "Even if the serum does half of what is promised, people should still remember to wear their masks and stay safe outdoors."

"But of course." Chris, the African American woman, returned her attention the screen and smiled. "We'll take a quick break before tackling some local sports, won't we Devon?"

The screen shifted to another man, but Dustin had already reached forward to mute the television. Inhaling a large breath of air, he drained the rest of his cup of coffee before setting it on the desk. His hands were shaking. He forced himself to take another deep breath.

The suddenness of it all. The gunfire. The shouting before we even knew what was happening. The chaos. The blood, the dying, the dead. He tightened his grasp on the desk and swiftly pushed himself up to a standing position. He opened his eyes. It's over.

It's over.

Jumping at the sudden ringing of the phone, Dustin cleared his throat and swiftly picked it up. "Killinger Concierge, this is Dr. Dustin Killinger."

"Hey doc, it's me, Clive Trevor." The voice was genial but rough, as though the person had smoked about five too many cigarettes in their life. "Calling in for one Quint Gardener. Kid's age is 21, birthday 5-24-2025."

"Hey there Clive, give me one second to bring up the patient's chart." Retaking his seat, Dustin swiftly logged into his patient workload and searched for Quint's name. Within seconds, his name, age, and date of birth were displayed on the screen, as well as his current medications and scanned documents from his previous medical visits. "All right, I am seeing his name now. What seems to be the problem, Clive?"

"A thick skull is the problem," Clive retorted harshly. "But that can't be fixed by you. No, I told the kid to take the day off from work given the AQI readings this morning, but he didn't listen, as usual. I can already tell he's having a hard time breathing and that it is only a matter of time before he has another one of his attacks. I know you gotta be busy, but if you could bring another of those nebuliza' treatments, I'd appreciate it."

"What symptoms is he displaying currently?"

"Ah, he's hacking and coughing every few minutes, and I can tell he's starting to have problems lifting the heavier car parts in our garage. Keeps eyeing his inhaler too, though I don't think he's used it yet."

"Is he having trouble breathing?"

"Not really, but I have heard him gasp and wheeze a few times. Stupid kid won't listen to me when I tell him to take a seat, though."

And it'll get worse if the AQI meter was accurate today. Dustin brought up his calendar, which was empty for the day. "I'll be over in about 30 minutes with the nebulizer treatment," he stated. "Have him rest and drink water until I arrive. Tell him AQI reports advised against heavy exertion, and that he should stop as soon as possible."

"Will do, Doc. Thanks in advance."

"See you shortly." Hanging up the phone, Dustin quickly typed the notes into the system, saved his progress, then locked his computer. Guess I'll be checking out that portable nebulizer sooner than expected.