Spirits were not high when you returned to work only to find a full-blown police investigation going on in the isolated ward. You soon heard the basics from other nurses: The Horsewomen had developed powers and escaped, killing their guard and leaving only a wrecked room behind.
Your stomach dropped at the news. You'd been suspecting it for a while, but you couldn't deny it any longer: This was your fault. The sudden resurgence in powers only began after you started working at St. Serena's. You were the only outlier you could think of, and all everyone affected were your patients. And now Jerry was dead and a bunch of dangerous criminals were on the loose.
Despite it all, you couldn't help but feel bad for the sisters. Having read their file, you knew they were dealt a bad hand in life, knew that they were petty criminals that now had more power than they knew what to do with. But deep down, you wondered...
They were always uncaring and dismissive when you visited them, acting tough and trying to get you out of their hair. But when you brought a glass of juice to go along with their meds, you could almost swear you'd heard a faint "Thank you" murmured by the quadruplets. Maybe with enough care, things could've turned out different.
Well, it was out of your hands now. You forced yourself to work despite the heaviness in your chest, even ignoring Agatha when she suggested going for tea to work over the bad events.
All too soon, the day came to an end, and you departed to hospital, still in a sour mood. You had to do something. This was your fault. But what could a simple nurse do? Despite looking out for crime, patrolling at night whenever you could and following active heroes, you had still failed to make any contacts.
You pondering was interrupted as the sound of gunfire erupted from a couple blocks away, followed by the panicked screaming of the masses. You immediately turned on your heels, running towards the sounds of chaos. A quick step to a side alley allowed you to materialize your suit, and when you stepped out to Telegram Square all hell was loose.
Dozens of cops had gathered in front of the DNACE headquarters, the foremost leaders in genetic research. The reason was obvious, as a sickly, greenish cloud was pouring out of the building, a viscous fluid flowing down the stairs. Dozens of bodies littered the streets, some civilian, some police. All of them were horrible. The scene was straight out of a nightmare, and you could see pools of vomit near the cop cars where obviously the constitution of the officers had failed.
Blood and other bodily fluids were streaming from large open wounds torn in the rotten flesh. Hair, teeth, even something that looked like exploded eyeballs added into the colorful display of gore. The bodies were sprouting large boils filled with pus, often covering up the features to make the bodies unrecognizable. The mass of dead seemed to quite literally be in the process of melting, being ravaged by disease of unknown origin.
A policeman cried out, and you noticed he had been in the process of dragging off one of their dead comrades when the body's boils had burst, showering him with disgusting pus that was now steaming on his face. The other officers looked, mortified, as he writhed on the ground, fast succumbing to whatever infection was feasting on him.
You took a deep breath, adjusted your hood, and leapt into action, running past the officers to reach the suffering man. They tried to stop you, the drag you away, but you could feel that their strength was gone. It would take rare fortitude to witness something so inhumane and keep going like nothing happened. You easily pushed through them and kneeled by the officer as the others looked on, confused. Tears and blood were streaming from his eyes as the boils quickly claimed his body, crawling across his skin agonizingly slowly, as if reveling in the suffering they were causing. You pushed your hands to his chest and commanded him to live.
***
The police looked, mesmerized, as the hooded woman clad in white pushed her way to their downed colleague. She was forceful, not letting them stop her, but when she caressed the dying man her touch was gentler than a falling feather. Then, the man lit up, her hands glowing a brilliant yellow, and in front of their eyes the infection began to recede, the boils shrinking down, blood evaporating and his breathing evening. It was over in seconds, and she she laid man down, fashioning a makeshift pillow out of his jacket. He was fast asleep, and she caressed his cheek, sending one last burst of healing into his face to correct a horrific scar the disease had left behind.
The officers were stunned to silence by this amazing moment of tranquility amidst the unfolding catastrophe, at least until you got up and spoke to them.
"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to direct me to new patients? I'm sure you have much to do."
***
From then on it was a blurry of activity for the next few minutes, as more and more injured officers and a few civilians were brought to you, and with each and every one of them you commanded the rot to leave their bodies. You were so focused in your work you didn't even notice the rotund man standing behind you until he cleared his throat. You jumped, you hood almost falling off. You hurriedly corrected it and focused on the man.
He was a proper brick house, all right. A graying, muscular man built like a bull, his intense gaze drilling into you as his eyes furrowed, trying to make out your features. You were honestly a bit intimidated, suddenly realizing that you were a civilian pushing right to the middle of an active crime scene.
"Will they... be okay?" he suddenly asked. You were surprised that such a man possessed such a gentle and caring voice, even if it was booming out louder than he probably thought.
"They will. I have managed to purge the disease, now they just need ample food, drink and rest to regain their energy. I'm willing to wager they'll be good as new by tomorrow."
The man let out a sigh of relief, and grabbed your hands, shaking them so thoroughly you felt like he was trying to shake you out of your skin.
"Maxwell Maxsson, Chief of Police. We are truly in your debt. Who know how many more we would've lost had you not come along, Miss..."
"Wellspring. Just call me Wellspring."
"Super?"
"Not... officially."
His gaze was calculating, and you knew why. The man might seem like a brute, but you didn't become the chief by sheer strength. You'd obviously heard of Maxwell, his exploits were almost legendary. He was the man who first spoke towards establishing free working conditions for superheroes, essentially making possible the swift and efficient cooperation between law enforcement and vigilantes. And now he was sizing up a new asset, already planning on how to best utilize it.
"Well, Miss Wellspring, I'm not sure if you're aware, but we've been on the lookout for years for someone with your... "expertise." Might I say it's most excellent you decided to show up, especially right now. We'll get your situation sorted out later, because right now I need you here. I understand it's sudden, but might I and the fair people of this city employ your services?"
"O-Of course!" You piped out. Despite the horrific environment, you couldn't help but feel immensely excited. You were finally taking your first steps in the world of heroism! You hoped you weren't glowing too much. You had to look professional.
"We have time to do a proper breakdown later, but right now I need an immediately outline of your capabilities. Go on." Chief Maxwell said, pulling out a tablet from somewhere. He stood there, and you realized he was waiting for you to describe yourself.
"S-Sir! I am fully versed in conventional and experimental medicinal practices! Via touch, I can administer intensive healing energy to my patients, immensely speeding up their recovery! By pushing myself, I can even rejuvenate and boost others!" You laid out, while Maxwell was tapping on his tablet.
"Hm. Excellent. Does your healing have limits?"
"So far I have never been pushed to the edge of my ability at any point, but I have to stay in physical contact to have the most effect."
"Any offensive capabilities?"
"I... have trained in Judo?"
The chief let out a small laugh, his fingers still tapping on the tablet. You stood around, surveying the scene. There were even more police, first responders and firefighters around now, and you could even see the special forces pulling up a bit farther out. And of course, the press had arrived, attracted to the smell of disaster like flies to honey. You could already spot dozens on cameras beyond the police blockade, and a news chopper buzzing around amidst the police helicopters. Whether you liked it or not, the world would know about you today.
The chief finished up, handing his tablet to an assistant that hauled it away. You quickly stood at attention, hoping he wouldn't notice you ignoring him. Maxwell laughed again at your reaction.
"Ease up, little soldier, we're not in the army here. But since you have submitted yourself to my command, I promise you'll get something to do. But I'm warning you, it won't be pleasant."
"Sir! Whatever you need from me, I'll do it! I will-"
He patted you on the shoulder with his huge hand, making you stumble around. You strained to regain your balance, but you were too on edge, too rigid. You fell on your butt. Had someone seen through you hoods, they could've witnessed your pale skin lighting up a brilliant red from embarrassment.
"Ease up, I said. Just call me Maxwell. Or Max. Or Chief, if you want. We need you at your best, since right now you're our best way to get through that cloud."
You felt a bit dizzy. Go through?
"W-What do you mean?"
"Well, the situation right now is this. About an hour ago, some crazy new supervillainess showed up here from out of nowhere, busting through both DNACE security and our local dispatchers. Began filling the whole place with that smog of hers, and using it to ambush anyone who tried to get close. She's classified as a Level 11 Biohazard."
You heard a loud gasp from nearby, and spotted a policeman who'd heard your conversation. He was clearly horrified.
"Level Eleven? I thought they only went up to ten!" he asked incredulously.
"Had to make up a new listing for the bitch alone." Chief Maxwell stated solemnly. "We analyzed the stuff she produces, and it's unlike anything we've seen so far. Like a all-or-nothing cocktail of bacteria and viruses."
Maxwell paused, looking out at the carnage where diseased bodies were festering.
"Anyway, anything that goes near, dies. Simple as. But, you've proven you can combat it. Your healing ability is unparalleled. Thus, my plan is simple: Outfit both you and a Striker-type Super in hazmat gear and send you both in. Once inside, the Striker beats up the villain while you keep them alive. If I've learned something over the years of doing this job, it's that a good old-fashioned beatdown nullifies about 90% of all ongoing powers."
You thought about it. Simple and effective. Although...
"But... what if it's the 10%?" You asked carefully.
"Then we hope for the best."
You didn't like it, but you understood. Maxwell was a veteran. Everyone relied upon him. But now he was faced with a new threat, and even all his experience had nothing against this terror. He had been handed a new asset, something that could maybe work, and he was willing to utilize it despite no guarantees at a success. Lives were at risk, after all.
You nodded.
"I'll do it, Chief."
He let out a sigh of relief you didn't even notice he'd been holding in.
"I appreciate it, lass. This whole ting hinges on you now."
"So... who am I going to be paired up with?"
"Oh, Don't you worry about that, I'm not sending a rookie like you out there without someone who knows how to handle themselves. It's none other than..."