There's a crash, a shattering, as medical supplies, glass dishes and metal instruments, all hit the floor at once. A second after, Rosinante hurls the entire wheeled metal table in the same direction, blocking the two doctors from leaving the examination room. One is screaming for security, the other is clutching his bleeding nose, face swelling and turning purple around the site of the injury which matches the sting in Rosinante's fist.
These two, like others, will pay.
His rage is blinding. Law has already bolted; he's seen this enough and knows how to escape. Rosinante isn't worried about him in that sense. He's worried, instead, about him hearing all of the hateful things the doctors said - here, too after so many others. Is there not a single hospital in the entire goddamed North Blue that has a shred of compassion for a dying boy? They cry about extermination and white monsters and can't see past their own fear and hate long enough to even consider helping and the last of his faith in medicine may just have finally eroded. What good is a nurse who won't examine a patient? A doctor who won't even discuss options for alleviating pain?
Footsteps down the hall mean this hospital was ready. They had heard the other reports and had armed police in town on call just in case. No time to go searching through hospital records for anything that might help, no point interrogating other doctors. Rosinante powers down the long hallway and rounds the corner, making sure no militia is going to sink lead into him today.
Nothing here is worth saving. None of these people are living up to the oaths they swore. If they want a hospital, they'll have to build a new one, and if some of them get caught in the blast or the collapse, oh well. An entire country of innocent people was wiped off the map due to fear and hatred and judgment so why not add a few of those assholes to the piles of bodies this world is responsible for?
Never mind hospitals. If this town wants doctors, they'd better get new ones of those, too.
He came prepared this time. The grenades are clipped to his belt and had been hidden under his coat. He goes silent just to make it harder for the town's little army to follow what's happening as one by one he tosses the three explosives into alternating rooms in the center of the administrative wing.
Not the patients. Never the patients. He's not that blind.
He has about ten seconds. Out a window, down an entire floor with a leap to a balcony, then down another until he's at the ground and though he can't hear the grenades go off, he doesn't miss when a piece of masonry goes hurtling through the sky.
There's a flicker of white. Rosinante spots the boy and his fuzzy hat crouched behind a fountain in the hospital yard and scoops him up into his arms as he drops the silencing effect and gives it to Law instead so he can cry without being heard. Poor kid.
3. Hospitals (closed to Cao Pi)
There's a crash, a shattering, as medical supplies, glass dishes and metal instruments, all hit the floor at once. A second after, Rosinante hurls the entire wheeled metal table in the same direction, blocking the two doctors from leaving the examination room. One is screaming for security, the other is clutching his bleeding nose, face swelling and turning purple around the site of the injury which matches the sting in Rosinante's fist.
These two, like others, will pay.
His rage is blinding. Law has already bolted; he's seen this enough and knows how to escape. Rosinante isn't worried about him in that sense. He's worried, instead, about him hearing all of the hateful things the doctors said - here, too after so many others. Is there not a single hospital in the entire goddamed North Blue that has a shred of compassion for a dying boy? They cry about extermination and white monsters and can't see past their own fear and hate long enough to even consider helping and the last of his faith in medicine may just have finally eroded. What good is a nurse who won't examine a patient? A doctor who won't even discuss options for alleviating pain?
Footsteps down the hall mean this hospital was ready. They had heard the other reports and had armed police in town on call just in case. No time to go searching through hospital records for anything that might help, no point interrogating other doctors. Rosinante powers down the long hallway and rounds the corner, making sure no militia is going to sink lead into him today.
Nothing here is worth saving. None of these people are living up to the oaths they swore. If they want a hospital, they'll have to build a new one, and if some of them get caught in the blast or the collapse, oh well. An entire country of innocent people was wiped off the map due to fear and hatred and judgment so why not add a few of those assholes to the piles of bodies this world is responsible for?
Never mind hospitals. If this town wants doctors, they'd better get new ones of those, too.
He came prepared this time. The grenades are clipped to his belt and had been hidden under his coat. He goes silent just to make it harder for the town's little army to follow what's happening as one by one he tosses the three explosives into alternating rooms in the center of the administrative wing.
Not the patients. Never the patients. He's not that blind.
He has about ten seconds. Out a window, down an entire floor with a leap to a balcony, then down another until he's at the ground and though he can't hear the grenades go off, he doesn't miss when a piece of masonry goes hurtling through the sky.
There's a flicker of white. Rosinante spots the boy and his fuzzy hat crouched behind a fountain in the hospital yard and scoops him up into his arms as he drops the silencing effect and gives it to Law instead so he can cry without being heard. Poor kid.
"Some day we'll find a cure. I promise."