Chapter 91
A few days after we'd thrown the amateur residents into their jobs, the city was noisy every damn day. Today, I'd come to inspect the hospital in the lower district. Just as I was wrapping up a half-assed tour and about to head out, I heard arguing from a nearby exam room.
"Take off your glasses, you bitch!"
"Fuck! I took 'em off!"
The boring inspection turned thrilling in seconds. Can't just walk past a fight show, right?
The moment I grabbed the door handle, two sharp noises rang out from inside in quick succession.
Smack!Crash!
I opened the door to find one woman standing and another sprawled on the floor. The one on the ground was out cold, eyes rolled back like bullseyes. She looked mid-30s. The standing one was a woman in her late 20s, wearing a white coat. She was shaking out her reddened right fist while slipping on her glasses with her left hand. At a glance, she towered well over 180 cm—taller than me. No makeup in this place makes judging looks straightforward.
"Ah!"
She let out an exclamation when she saw me. Her expression and voice had a distinctly non-Korean ring to them.
The doctor caught red-handed beating a patient was named Maya. Israeli national. A striking beauty with impressively long black hair, even after prison life.
Maya was brazen as hell. Arms crossed, legs kicked up casually as she sat there with a "throw me in solitary" vibe.
She'd bolted from Israel right before total mobilization was declared and snuck into Korea. As a med student, she would've been handed a rifle for battlefield TCCC instead of working rear hospitals. Smart move—by the time she settled here, most of her classmates had been shredded alongside patients during field surgeries.
Thinking about the pre-apocalypse world order, Korea was a lucky spot just to crash in.
Most female illegals made a living selling their bodies or laughs, but Maya was top-tier quack material by underworld standards. She ran her scam on illegals and gangsters until she got nabbed and started her happy prison stint. Seemed like clients rated her well—records showed steady outside support, including gourmet snacks, even during her sentence.
I glanced back and spotted the hospital's interim head doctor peeking from a distance. Name tag read Kim Yuna. Short bob, horn-rimmed glasses. Probably antsy since a brawl broke out during my visit.
"Not planning to blame you for shitty oversight."
A normal doc couldn't rein in a gangster quack without cops or HR backing her up.
"Why'd you hit her?"
I alternated glances between the eye-rolled knockout on the corner bed and Maya. One-punch lights-out. Fitting for her build—not your average fist.
"Preemptive strike. She swung first. I dodged and counterpunched."
Maya said. Her Korean was clumsy, accent thick, but the words got through.
"If she swung first, you'd have no room to bitch even if she'd landed it."
PDA CCTV footage backed her story.
"I got insulted first and attacked first. Called me a 'gangster leg-spreader whore!' I held back at first."
Maya scowled as she spoke.
"Must've done something to earn that level of shit-talk."
"Nothing!"
She shook her head and hands furiously, then pointed at the floored woman like something clicked.
"Cellmate back in the mainland prison. I got lotsa care packages from guys. She picked fights over it—jealous 'cause she got zilch."
"Gangs?"
Maya rolled her eyes.
"Loyal customers!"
"Ah, right. Makes sense."
Awkward pronunciation and grammar, but damn, her vocab was loaded. Smart girl cramming a foreign language short-term?
"Anything else? She wouldn't swing just over petty jealousy."
"Whole checkup, she kept muttering..."
Maya fumbled, Korean failing her for the right word.
"'Fuck fuck? Bitch bitch?' Badmouthing nonstop, so I fired back! She lost it and charged."
"What'd you say?"
Maya hesitated, probably weighing if it'd bite her in the ass. Not fully innocent.
"No punishment for this. Spill it exact—word for word."
Her skills were too valuable for this petty drama. Can't robot-nurse two thousand-plus souls.
"Sigh."
Maya exhaled like she had no choice. Figured lying or clamming up wouldn't fly once the other woke for questioning.
"I said, 'Take good care of my shit and piss, you bitch!'"
She swept back her side-swept hair, cheeks flushing.
"She's on sewer duty. Assigned."
I ducked my head to hide my rising smirk. These chicks were kinda adorable.
Clink.
She poured water from the nearby purifier and handed it over.
"No coffeepot. No tea. Understand?"
"Graciously accepted."
"Pfft, thanks for what? Everything here's yours anyway."
She waved it off.
"That too? And that?"
I pointed; her thick brows twitched. Her exam room wasn't just medical gear—personal stuff everywhere. My finger aimed at black panties, bras, and socks dangling from a clothesline strung from the ceiling.
Huge sizes, matching her frame. Normal hospital? Gypsum boards for looks. Shelter? Pure utility. No obstructions for maintenance—ugly sprinkler pipes, exhaust ducts all exposed. Lowest one had the laundry line.
Obvious why she'd set up house here. Communal barracks living, no private homes. Maya with her own exam room? Natural to claim it as a bedroom.
"If you say remove, right away..."
Not hard rules, but anyone with sense knows it's bad form.
"Clear it by end of day. This ain't your bedroom—shared exam room. Pipes sagging under weight's a pain."
Maya nodded, visibly relieved at skating free.
"Ugh..."
Right on cue, the KO victim stirred.
"...Ugh... you! You fuckin' b...itch?"
She growled at Maya on sight, then froze spotting me grinning and waving beside her.
"Out."
I jerked my thumb at the door. Still groggy and clueless, she wore a dumb look for seconds before bolting. Left the door open, dashed back for a 90-degree bow, slammed it shut, and vanished. Comedy gold.
"Oppa! Mind if I ask something?"
Maya giggled at the spectacle.
"Oppa?"
Never saw that coming.
"Can't... call you oppa?"
She peered up timidly. Adorable mismatch for her height.
"Nah, call me whatever. What's up?"
Quacks were movie stuff; seeing one live was novel.
"Weird saying it myself. Me? No license."
"And?"
She flicked eyes at the doc observing from behind me.
"She's pressuring sneaky. 'Quack like you treating?!'"
"Aha."
Knock knock.
Turned to see a nurse and patient with the door half-open, no permission asked. They jumped spotting me inside. Backed-up patients, must've missed us. Another nurse soon yanked them away bodily.
"Oppa, sick folks waiting long. No more? Go please?"
"Yeah. Heading out."
I stood.
"Next time, dial back the temper."
"I'll try! If no preemptive swings."
"Drop by again, serve tea. I'll send a pot and bags."
Her eyes went wide, then a beaming smile—straight-up bar-girl grin. Clashed hard with the white coat. Guess habits die hard.
"Take care."
"Yeah! Oppa too!"
She waved big sending me off.
Stepping out, stiff-backed Kim Yuna hustled over.
"Tough gig managing here. Keep up the good work."
Time wasted already; no dragging it out.
"Wait."
She grabbed me, ranting how unfair it was letting quack Maya keep treating. Cited reasons, but core was no license.
I pulled up recent Maya treatment pics on my PDA. Multiple surgeries—flawless sutures start to finish.
Asked Artemis for eval; her hologram popped up here.
Her surgical skills are the best among resident medical personnel.
"Heard that?"
Yuna nodded awkwardly, flustered.
"Here, her word is the license."
Everyone knew Artemis via shelter info screens.
"We ain't copying outside society one-for-one."
Disasters demand disaster fixes. Sudden influx over two thousand—we can't robot every med need alongside food, shelter, basics.
We've given plenty providing living space, power, food, essentials, security. Time to slot resident skills right, push self-reliance.
Snubbing quacks now? Luxury we can't afford.
"We'll handle precision diagnostics and heavy procedures. You do checkups a notch above first aid. That's it."
Yuna clammed up. Waited five seconds; lips stayed sealed.
"Other questions?"
She shook her head. Grumpy, but with Artemis and me backing Maya, no balls to push back.
"Cool. Next visit, I'll bring treats."
I nodded toward Maya's room.
"Get along with Maya."
Yuna nodded. As I turned to leave, something clicked.
"Hold up. Where's your exam room?"
Pushed the fidgety woman into her private office.
"......"
Sure enough—panties and tank tops on a clothesline. White ones this time.
"Clear it. All of it."
Yuna nodded furiously, sweating bullets.