"Dr." Rob Houseman
blond (short bangs)
(Nationality or Tribe):
UK (exchange student)
Hospital greens or T-shirt and knee-shorts
Outstanding Marks or Features:
distinctive English accent
Knowledge of basic medical procedures, knowledge of emergency room procedures (surgical first aid), familiarity with some common human illnesses
Feats and Class/Caste Abilities:
Combat, Weapon and Armor Proficiencies:
Weapons on hand:
Divine or Arcane Spell Use:
Tribe and Personal Mutations/Extraordinary Abilities:
(Dying very slowly) of radiation poisoning
Obsessive belief in hippocratic oath... will treat anyone... even a Wraeththu, distrustful of military
“I’m a Doctor not a Rehune miracle worker damn it!
Present at Nuclear Fallout:
Where were you?:
In St Barnabus Hospital
What were you doing?:
Sowing up a knife fight victim
Rob has dedicated himself to the care of the victims of ‘the event’ and makes no distinction between Har and Human. Because the Hara won’t come to his makeshift emergency room he goes to them, smuggling out military medical supplies.
Equipment and Belongings:
Limited medical supplies some of it stolen
The Tribes of the City are aware that Rob is dying... His ability to procure medical supplies is currently makes him ‘more useful’ as he is. There will come a point (shortly) when his cover will be blown or his health problem becomes so severe that inception will be the only cure. Rob is unaware that the tribes keep him under close observation.
Because of his position Rob has access to all three factions (at least initially)
My name is Doctor Rob Houseman, as you can tell from the accent, I'm English. I guess I was lucky being out in the US on an internship when they quarantined the old country. Then again, perhaps not so lucky as I'm stuck in a town some jihadi nutter decided to nuke.
My first encounter with the Wraeththu would have been about a year ago. His name was John Doe, he was dead on arrival at the emergency room.
John Doe's neck had been slit and his blood drained. Just to make certain that he was dead someone had strapped a grenade to his genitals and pulled the pin.
John Doe's had been inventive death but hardly unique. I shrugged and got on with sowing up the next knife wound, a young ganger, from the same block as me, called Co-lin. Co-lin was insufferably proud of his wound, it left him with a scar that started above his eye then slipped down his face ending millimetres from his carotid artery. He thought it made him look 'hard'.
I thought it made him look like he'd nearly died and told him so. Typically he took my comment as a compliment.
A year later, I now know that John Doe was bled and blown up to hide the fact that he was Wraeththu and I also know what that really means.
Ironically it was Co-lin who revealed the truth...or at least a part of it... A month or so before the nuke, he appeared at my door, hammering on it with a bloody hand until I answered,
I didn't recognise him at first, all of my attention was on his wound. There was a knife sticking out of his chest. Everything I knew said that the boy in front of me shouldn't be able to stand let alone have the energy to hammer at my door.
"Listen closely Doc. I need help. But...You do as I say, right. You do this my way. My terms." he said through gritted teeth.
I had nodded. 'Standard protocol' requires us to play along with the deranged person until help can be called.
"Ok,thing is dis, I been infected by some AIDS varient-17 shit, you gotta use gloves and shit. Don't want my blood to kill yuzz. 'K?"
It had sounded plausible, so I did as he asked. I packed his wound and used just enough stitches to keep it closed. I figured he'd head to the emergency room himself now that the blade was out.
It was only then that I recognized Co-lin's now unscarred face. I asked him about it and tried to persuade him to let me take him to hospital, but he got a wary look then and headed for my door. Just before leaving he hesitated, turned and said "listen you ever get into problems with the tribes you say you are 'Tura Unhar'. Those words will protect you."
Over the next few months the number of knife and gunshot wounded boys coming into the Emergency Room plummetted. I wondered if they all thought they had Variant-17 AIDS and were avoiding us. The whisper was that some quack called The Doc-Tura was helping them out.
I may not have had any hoodies to treat, but other people were piling into the ER.
The gangwars were getting insanely out of hand and finallyHome-sec called the Army in.
Arrogant fucking jarheads.
Typically the fact that I'm a foreign national put me right at the top of the list of 'suspects'. The interogator seemed to think I might be responsible for 'the plague infecting the street gangs' purely on the basis that I was foreign, young enough to be a jihadi and medically trained.
That whole episode ended pretty quickly, the army made a sweep downtown and suddenly had more casualties than their own medics could cope with. My skills were once again more important than my European passport.
The night after that first battle I had a visitor, he'd broken in through my eighth floor window...It was Co-lin and he no longer made any pretence of trying to fit in, the jeans and t-shirt were gone, he wore only a loincloth and henna tattoos, looking like some wannabe amazonian tribesman.
My medical sense came alert, the scar on his chest, although healed should still have been a livid red. It was gone, as completely as the facial scar had been
"Your scar ....its gone!"
"The Tura know how to heal, its the surgery and anatomy knowledge we don't got" he grinned mysteriously and then turned serious "Listen the hu...the army.. They shot us up some. We got wounded...."
I immediately turned and picked up my medical bag.
"Take me to them"
"Two rules. You never touch our blood always use gloves, and you don't speak of what you see. Ever. If you do, we will kill you."
The trip into the downtown was like a journey into a bombed out hell, the army hadn't held back, they'd gone in with tanks. Quite how the streetgangs had managed to melt the gun barrels on the convoy of wrecks I hadn't a clue.
As we neared our destination Co-lin's gang emerged from the darkness, like colin they were In tribal dress
"I am Gavik Har Tura" shouted Co-lin
"Pass Tiahaar" Was the reply
For six hours straight I stitched, bound up wounds, extracted bullets, and tied torniques to severed limbs. I also saw miracles being done, a 'laying on of hands' that actually worked...I knew then how Co-lin's scars had vanished.
As dawn light began to seep into the filthy candle lit room, the last of the wounded was seen to.
"I should go, they'll miss me" I said
My words seemed to unsettle them and an argument soon sprang up. To my alarm some were arguing that they should keep me, others argued that that was dishonourable.
The wannabe kidnapper then said I'd seen too much. To which my protectors argued that they'd been careful and that I'd seen nothing.
At that point I decided some bribary might be useful, pointing out that I had access to medical supplies, perhaps I'd be more use to them outside.
My argument did the trick, I was let free. I resolved that next time I'd pay closer attention to their healing technique, such a skill could save thousands if it could be taught.
The Army clashed twice more with the tribes. Both times I patched up the troops during the day and the tribe the next night.
About a month later someone dropped the fucking nuke. I was in the ER at the time, the flash fried all our electrical equipment in an instant. For once the tribes had to do without a doctor, there were enough patients among the general population to keep me busy full time.
I don't seem to have any symptons, but when I put a 'borrowed' Army geiger counter near my chest the tick-rate goes up significantly. That’s bad. It means I don't have long.
There are rumours about the nuke. Some are saying that it wasn't a nuke, some are saying it was some new sort of weapon, pointing out that it ought to have vaporized the lot of us.
One guy said that the entire city's been 'extracted from time'. But He must have been delusional, I read the same sci-fi book its called 'Across Realtime'...in which the bobble of time bursts leaving the story's city in a post apocayptic future. Poor guy, probably just the morphine he was on.
Of course, If its true, everyone will die of oxygen starvation or lack of water sometime later this month and I won't have to worry about my Rad-count anymore.
Strange though. The military aren't allowing any of their critical cases to be flown out; and come to think of it, I haven't seen any squeeky new recruits flown in either.