Glasby Medical Center

In the depths of the ol' bustling, brimming metropolis of Glasby, there lay a small little building about three or four stories high, sandwiched between two towering skyscrapers oddly like a pencil between storage crates. It was a little wider than the usual Glasbian work of residential construction, creating crammed and claustrophobic alleyways on each side. The front instead was a masterpiece in both cheapness and catching one's attention, being a crude smattering of conflicting and complementing colors, bits and pieces of metal strewn about, an unsuspecting small door with a rectangular window that was walled off by paper, and finally some 'expertly' plastered all-caps words in a formulaic, boxy font exclaiming 'GLASBY MEDICAL CENTER.'


A work of art indeed, at the very least it was intended to...seize passerbys' focus, maybe even reel them into the place itself. What'd the interior entail, you may ask?


Well, nothing less than an absolute butchery of any organizational morality even the most ardent of anarchists could hold on to, a scattering of numerous devices, medical beds and storage containers to suit the owner's needs in full.


Speaking of which, Cornwall himself was off...sharpening his cleavers, what else. He simply demanded perfection in that aspect, to have complete smoothness whenever gashing into his patients' frail skin, to make his doctoral exercise in satisfaction that much more cathartic. Nothing but the best for him and his grandeur...except for simple room layouts. Oh, well, it was his place, after all.


That place was quite the empty one at the moment, though, most patients of his for the day having already gotten their (admittedly well-priced) fix, Corny relegated to further mumblings to himself and the personal sharpening of his skills and equipment. Greatness still awaited him...it would just take a little while, he thought.


"...Damn, these little buggers are rough. I didn't realize the quality of the 'sharp things' industry would decline here as well, mhm."

While the city itself was much of an eyesore, with only a few tall, dull concrete skyscrapers smattering the skyline, what was even worse were the instances where the city council had attempted to beautify and 'diversify' the city by introducing strange geometries into the building style. It was officially dubbed art, but most citizens knew it to be a marketing campaign, something to rope in the tourists. Although it seemed that one building was not government owned, and had yet still utilized the bizarre shaping. There were two things unique about this structure in particular.

The first was that it was almost entirely privately owned, or at least that's what the company claimed, and secondly, it was the tallest building to feature the weird and admittedly unpleasant artistic design of many of the smaller, government owned structures.

Glasby Medical Center, it was titled, and not being government owned was the only thing that kept the green tree frog coming. Government doctors just didn't take too kindly to the bullet grazes and knife wounds that he too often needed looked at by a professional, and these more private doctors were more than happy to not ask questions, for a price.

He carefully opened the glass door to the medical center with his large, webbed hand, the door was clearly more well suited for the much taller humans that lived here, much like most cities, not taking into account the other 50% of the population: Mobians.

The frog made his way to the front desk, where he'd of course be told to wait until the doctor could see him, despite having an appointment set for this time. "I've got uh..." He began in a thin, Australian Accent, "An appointment with Doctor... uh..." Damn, he forgot who he was seeing. "Ryan, My name's Ryan, I'm pretty sure I booked an appointment here at..." He checked his watch, "2pm?"

...The Amber fox took a second to end his oh-so cherished sharpening activity, cocking his head up and cracking a smile towards Ryan. Carefully lowering his cleavers down to the floor, he eagerly cleared his throat and bellowed out in a nuanced, thick British accent.

"Aye!" he grinned, "Welcome!" He took a moment to analyze his appearance and face.

Shifting his attention back to medical matters, he continued.

"I've been meaning to hear a warm but still pretty awkward tone like yours all day, funnily enough. Most of 'em so far have either been broads or whiny 'stards, confidence flowin' out their mouths like a river. Y'know, I appreciate variation in personality like that."

His smile didn't fade, not at all.

The green tree frog's stance shifted at the sudden and rather unexpected welcome from the doctor, who had, as he now knew, was within earshot of himself checking in. It was simply instict for the frog to be alert, or at least alarmed by the sudden appearance of any figure, in his line of work it could be life and death. And he supposed even in the line of medicine, it could be life and death... in extreme cases at least.

He looked the doctor up and down, the rich, orange fur contrasting with the medical coat he wore and the rather uncomfortable grin he wore as he welcomed the tree frog into the establishment.

"You must be... Doctor Cornwall, I recall now. Personality... yes..."

His feet shifted again on the tiled flooring of the waiting room, "Will you be seeing me now or should I take a seat?" He asked, careful not to move his arms too much so as to not upset the wound he needed looked at. For now it was covered by his jacket, to keep it out of the prying eye of the public, but when the time called for it to be looked at he could simply remove the jacket.

Cornwall chuckled, always finding amusement in the subtleties of officiality. Being a Fox who'd most certainly beat to the sound of his own drum, he moved most tradition and commonality to the wayside in favor of his own, unique flavor of lifestyle. One that prided a combination of the individual and complete improvisation into a unique blend of both wittiness, confidence, and, of course, a bullish drive to be an absolute pain in the backside. He was certainly Dr. Cornwall, alright.

His snickering coming to a stop, he restructured his coat from its dreadful organization to make it more ruffled, glaring at the Frog with a slightly more stern face.

"Oh, you mustn't know, we 'ave a different style around 'ere. No need for appointments and all that crap, just come'n and have a seat, you'll be patched up nicely in no time flat. I can see how it would be foreign to a resident of this...'fair' city, that's for sure."

Whatever the jab, compliment or remark, some essence of a grin would always stealthily emerge on the Doctor's face, giving off his dual poise-presumptive character perfectly.

The frog chuckled, ‘fair city’ indeed. The small abandoned asylum a few kilometres east of the city was a much more comfortable abode than any apartment within the city, especially with it having such a strong connection to nature. 

And while the lack of professionalism would have bothered anyone else, it affected the frog significantly less, it meant that there was an odd chance confidentials wouldn’t be being recorded, or... particular details would go unnoticed or unquestioned, which suited him just fine.

Ryan gave Dr Cornwall a large froggy grin, perhaps only to match the Doctors own, but a smile nonetheless. “Alrighty doc, where do I sit?”

"...Right over on the benches, even if the buggers aren't particularly comfy or inviting, they kinda represent the city as a whole, y'know."

Appreciating the Frog's similar grin, he winked at Ryan before going a way's back behind the front desk to fetch his toolbox.

At least the doctor was friendly enough, in his own way. The sort of person Ryan wanted to be comfortable around, but if experience had said anything, exactly who to watch out for. He sat down on the bench with a slight carefulness, hoping that things would at least play out in a kosher manner.

"Yeah the city's not that great, great place in nature but the council seriously needs to reconsider the infrastructure. I imagine the bench won't be any more uncomfortable than the wound itself." 

The wound in question was that of a gunshot. Clients amiright? The frog shifted about on the seat, attemting to get as comfortable as possible.

Taking his toolbox out, which seemed to have some minor dents on it changing up its blood-red color (as to mask the actual blood on the storage device), Cornwall took a good look at the wound in question, stroking his chin in intrigue.

"Gunshot, eh? Not the most common of my patients nowadays. Those annoying things seem to be kind of archaic, in my eyes. Just stick a needle in 'em, or better yet, slam your fist into their throat. No need for messy shrapnel getting all over the corpse. Can't they use that crap for more important purposes?"

He laid the toolbox down on one of the emerald medical beds, rummaging through it like a badger through a trashcan till he laid out an assortment of medical gadgetry ranging from the beautiful to the horrid and painful-looking. Corny usually wanted his subjects both softened up and battered psychology at the same time to increase the memorability of the appointments, which would hopefully better his reputation and lure in more customers. Reputation was everything to that high-flying fox.

Ryan wasn't bothered at all by the doctor's battle-damaged medical kit, but his comment was enough to make him turn to face the doctor, rather than have his arm facing the fox. It was at least clear that the frog was not the only person in his line of work that had come here for some off-the-record work, but 2 and 2 were coming together rather swiftly.


"What sort of Anesthesia do you use here?" Ryan asked, slowly pulling his arm sleeve back over the wound, eyeing Cornwall at least half-skeptically.

"Ooh, simple. Just the usual dosage of names that are so damn long I can barely remember them, and so monotonous that I'd not dare speaking them out loud to you. What, you think it's poison or something? C'mon, mate..."

He had a bit of a half-amused half-worried look on him.

The frog smiled warily, "Not at all. Just getting an odd vibe off you, do most clients feel that way?" As Ryan shifted on the emeral green bed he sat on, he wasn't sure if the doctor was genuinely shady or if he truly was just an odd fellow. And while he certainly couldn't blame anyone even if they were genuinely shady, he was himself after all, people were shady for different reasons.

"Before we start... this isn't going on record is it?"


(Incredibly sorry for my late reply my dude, school started and its like a truck getting hit by a brick wall)

(That's fine! School is more important than this, and well, I think I have the patience for it. At least, considering how satisfying this is!)

"For one, yes, some clients just can't take how great I am, tragedy, I know. We have a LOT of simple-minded lard-lickers around here, you must know that too well!""

He cleared his throat, stroking his whiskers.

"Two, well, I have to comply with those unkempt bastards in the congress house somehow, right? 'Course, this is going on record, it's medical policy, and by that I mean it's government policy. I wish I was prime minister, but it's going to take probably a decade for that to happen, tears aside."

He wiped his face a bit, turning back to Ryan, an ironically non-threatening bit of anesthetic equipment filling his hands. If such a thing could be non-threatening.

Dr Cornwall was certainly... eccentric, and after the first few hiccups of their initial meeting, he was becoming more comfortable with the idea that Cornwall was just odd, as he'd put it before.

"Absolutely, not overly fond of the simple people asking me to 'work for pay' like some mercenary. Theres a little more to it than that, contracts, loyalties etc. You know the drill."

The frog shrugged, wincing as the torn tissue around the open wound flexed, "Well... that... is unfortunate." It was a bit of a mini-requirement for him that information regarding the nature of his job was not kept on record, the most obvious of which were the medical reports. Plenty of people were willing to sell munitions undercover, but it was a bit difficult to get proper surgery done in the dark.

"I... Well you and I both know how much the government loves their cash, taxes exist for a reason. I'm wondering if perhaps this counts as maybe... an upper body lift?" Ryan hadn't nessecarily gotten a good pay for a long while, the mission before his last hadn't seen any revenue, and the last contract had seen only enough for a small amount of savings, the essentials, and this appointment. Looks like he'd have to take a dive into the ol' bank account.

He didn't relax as the syringe came out, not for any fear of the injection, but simply becuase of the numerous other things on his mind.

"Well, what does it matter? 'S still gonna be on record, anyways. Unless you're up for paying me quite the pretty bit of ringage, though. Givin' the middle finger to the Feds is quite the beloved pastime of mine, along with makin' money. Interested?"

His grin grew a tiny bit.

Ryan let himself smile, at least he could negotiate. "An excellent suggestion, doctor. That's my favourite kind of appointment." The frog gave Cornwall a thumbs up, patting his wallet-pocket with the good arm and throwing the fox a wink. 

"Whenever you're ready."

"I'll say that I'm ready to do some serious damage on you for that sake of monetary gain. AKA, standard medical procedure."

Cornwall, coming away with his various gadgets of varying lengths, sizes and deadlinesses that would make many an average patient wet themselves and/or question whether leaving home was a good idea. But, Corny indeed saw that Ryan was no normal, run-of-the-mill customer, something he took much delight in, perceiving it as a breath of fresh air.

"This could take anywhere from about 5 minutes to 50. Any last words before the operation begins?"

Ryan smiled, silently assuring himself that Cornwall was just bizarre, not a psycho. Which in all essence probably wasn't too difficult to beleive, the doctor just had an odd sense of humour, which admittedly wasn't too far off from the type of odd that Ryan dealt with on a proffessional basis anyway.

"Well, thankfully I'm here because I've already avoided the serious damage, but I guess karma's coming around huh?" He said with a smile.

"As for last words, I dunno. If I don't make it out of this, I leave everything to you." The frog said in a melodramatic voice, "Nah, I should be good doc." 

Ryan shifted on the emerald green chair, watching silently and patiently as Cornwall brought out the otherwise intimidating medical equipment, readying himself for the impending surgical procedure.

"Not the most dignified last words I've ever heard, but eh, you'll be a changed frog by the time I'm done with you anyway. Let it BEGIN!"

And so, it indeed did.

Cornwall didn't hesitate in the slightest after providing Ryan with some completely-necessary anesthetic in his wound and then going to town on the gash with every manner of medical equipment and tactic you could think of, both to make the surgery more entertaining and satisfying for himself and to make it quicker. Why use one instrument and take fifteen minutes when you could use five and it'd take five?

Well, a little more than that. It took 6.

Six minutes of some of the most innately-intense work of Corny's veteran medical career, but all the same probably his finest and greatest. By the time Ryan woke up, Corny was grinning triumphantly.

He chuckled at cornwalls comment, odd, but good natured at least. So when the process began, he was comfortable with the proceedings, the doctor clearly knew what he was doing and unlike most people he'd gone to visit, favoured the implimentation of multiple tools for the job as appossed to as little as possible. 

Ryan could understand this, no point in trying to make do and improvise when you've got everything right there within an arms reach.

It tingled, to be certain, although the anesthetic was certainly powerful enough to dull the greater portion of the pain, it still left that numb pinchy feeling with every movement of the blade.

The whole thing was over in what felt to be a blink of the froggy man's eye. Q-ualit-y service.

"Thanks doc." he said, taking a look at his now cleaned up shoulder and giving Cornwall's smile a wink in reply, "Looks better than new."

"That's the plan alright. Fix you up, make you a whole new person, brighter, better, more handsome. Seems like you understand that. Great!"

He took a moment to just sit there with his hands by his hips, satisfied with the bit of medical work he'd gloriously completed. To think, that all his years of trial-and-error in the arts of medicine and anything doctor-related had resulted in another successful operation. There was nothing but bliss in his face and eyes. And then, there were dollar signs.

"You know the drill. Time to pay up, and extra if y' want my mouth to be zipped shut."

Cornwall's grin extended further, like a river burrowing through rocks.

"Well you did a stunning job." He smiled, reaching for the wallet tucked in the back of his Dunderdon P12s. Ryan was careful to make sure not to sure the arm that had just been operated on, it was still slightly numb, and it was still going to hurt to move for a short while, but by the looks of the job, not too much longer than the evening.

Ryan nodded, "An upper body lift is around 15,000 right? You mind if I use one of my cards?" He said, pulling a small black, brandless debit card out of his wallet.

"No, don't the cards make y'look richer, anyway? That's the plan with you government-types, innit?"
He chortled a bit, looking longingly at that grand piece of wondrous financial technology. The corners, the slick bank branding, it was glorious...

Not wanting to waste any time, he pointed to the makeshift register upfront, which was really just a large monitor and a medium-sized drawer painted jet-black. He didn't need to be flashy, all he needed to be was damn good at the art of medicine. It was safe-to-say that today, he was pretty damn good at the art of medicine.

Ryan nodded, "Basically. If I had the Rings on me I'd be glad to hand them over, but carrying 15k of the things is a bit of a task of itself" He stood up, rotating his new shoulder with a smile, "Smooth as butter" It wasn't really as smooth as butter, at least not yet.

It would be, within the next week at most. Much better than a month or two like any normal practitioner, and with the added bonus of no medical record.


"Just here?" he asked, walking over to the counter. It didn't exactly seem all to well equiped as a register for a medical clinic, but all things considered it was probably enough to get the job done as efficiently as possible, "Nice, minimalistic, I like it."

"Yeah, from where you come from anything below a pile of waxed countertops and finely-crafted window planes set over a golden floor is pretty minimalistic, I'd say."

Swiping the card over on the register's little nook, his grin (somehow) grew further as he watched the money swiftly transfer over into his banking account. Smooth as butter, indeed.