"Right this way," the cobbler said, pointing at a small building near the middle of town. Surprisingly, the building was still standing; it couldn't have been more than two stories high and barely the length of a house. The earthy smell coming from the walls let me know that the building was also constructed of the same materials as the rest of the town, a mud and cement mixture that miraculously kept the structure together.
The cobbler opened the door, and a small woman sat in front of a desk. She was writing on a pad and a pen. As soon as she saw us come in, her eyes grew big, and her mouth dropped down.
"No, no, no," she said as she quickly stood up, attempting to push the door in to close it and leave us outside. Finn placed a foot at the door, impeding her from closing it fully.
"There are too many of you. We can't help you all," the receptionist said with a squeaky voice. "Go away, we are full," she said as she peeked through the small opening at the door.
Finn's foot started to slide in the opposite direction the girl was pushing in, slowly opening the door to its entire length. Finn looked at the small woman as she began backing away, getting out of his way, surely realizing that she couldn't fight him with strength alone. He then held the door open and allowed the townies to come in alongside us; there must have been at least a hundred people following us to the nearby hospital; the receptionist was right about something; we couldn't all fit. I pushed my way around the people. I made my way to the front, Betty following close behind me.
I stepped on top of the desk, and the receptionist looked like she had given up and left for another room, far away from the commotion happening near the front desk. I then started talking at the top of my lungs.
"We need at least two volunteers—one who has been affected by the potion and cured and one who was affected and not cured!" I said, hoping I could analyze their blood samples and determine the changing factor.
The cobbler stepped in. "I'm Patient X! I somehow managed not to become a rocky formation for these past couple of years." Then he pulled a nearby towny closer, a young boy. "This is my son; he didn't have the same luck." I looked closer. His arms were covered by a long-sleeve shirt, hiding away his rocky imperfection. I nodded
"Okay, let's find a room then," I signaled for them to follow me; Betty came along, but Finn stayed behind, helping entertain the masses.
I knocked at the first office room. No answer. Perfect.
I opened the door and saw a small check-up room. I was two for two with this office. The only thing that would make it better would be to find a small syringe to extract the blood from the father and the son. I opened a few drawers; it must have been my lucky day. The very last drawer in the corner of the room held four small syringes.
"This might feel uncomfortable," I told the pair.
I attempted to draw blood from the cobbler first. But the syringe bent as soon as it touched the skin.
"That's weird," I said. "Let me try again."
So I did. I grabbed the second syringe and attempted the other arm. It also bent outwards. I raised an eyebrow and flared my nostrils. This shouldn't be happening. I tried the son instead, attempting to draw from the legs since his arms had become impenetrable. It went right in.
"Ugh!" the boy exclaimed.
"I know. I'm sorry, I can't pull from your arms." the syringe was quickly filled with the boy's blood. A quick review under the microscope showed that some of his cells were slowly merging with the affected ones, but some others were rejecting the merger. I tried the last syringe. I began flicking the cobblers' skin. In random spots throughout his body
"Do you feel this?" I asked with genuine curiosity
"I don't," he said with disconcert.
I flicked his leg. He shook his head, his other arm, nothing. Finally,, I flicked his right eye.
"Ouch," the man said as he quickly backed away from my hand and covered the affected eye. "Why did you do that?" he said as he rubbed the affected area.
"Trying to find a weak spot in your skin. I can't draw blood if I can't insert the needle."
What I was saying to him finally clicked because he looked horrified. "You CAN'T put a needle through my eye," he said angrily.
Betty stepped in. "We just want to run some tests. It looks like the only soft tissue area is near your optical nerves. We might have to draw blood from there."
"Absolutely not." the man stood up and began heading towards the door.
"But – What about your son?" Betty asked.
The man stopped his shoulders dropping as he looked back at his younger son, still seated in the examination bed. They looked at each other, one with the look that you can only give when you have fatherly love and the other with understanding. His son understood that what needed to be done at this moment was too much.
"Fine, but I want my son out of the room," he said, looking away.
Betty looked at the boy; he was a teenager, for the looks of it. He couldnt have been older than 17; she grabbed his hand and quickly pulled him from the room. He tried to turn back, but Betty insisted that perhaps this wasn't the best moment for it.
The cobbler sat on the bed, pulled a drink from his pocket—whisky—and took a straight shot. His hands seemed to be trembling in fear, but besides that, he hid it away pretty well.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" he lay back into the bed. As I drew closer, I grabbed some tools to keep his eye open and a few straps to restrain his movement. I wanted his blood not to kill him.
"I'm going for it — Brace yourself."
In my hands, the syringe looked bigger than moments prior. I garnished some courage inside of me and slowly started pushing the needle into his eye. A sudden, piercing scream shattered the silence. It wasn't just any scream; it was a scream wrought with agony, a primal howl of pain that seemed to claw its way out from the depths of the soul. The sound was guttural, almost animalistic, as if every fiber of the person's being was being torn apart. It started as a low, pained moan, a desperate plea for relief, before escalating into a crescendo of torment that reverberated off the walls. The syringe began filling with crimson-red liquid.
Each syllable of the scream was laden with anguish, the voice cracking under the strain of unbearable suffering. It echoed through the room, carrying with it a sense of helplessness and despair that seemed to seep into the very air. For those who heard it, the scream was like a dagger to the heart, evoking a visceral response of empathy and horror. It lingered in the air long after it had faded, a haunting reminder of the fragility of the human spirit in the face of overwhelming pain. I had what I needed. I patched the eye as well as I could. The man before me was shocked to the core.
I quickly placed the sample next to the one priorly acquired. His blood cells, were different, while the son's seemed to be either absorbing or denying his worked mutually as his cell was been protected by the rocky formations without disturbing its natural form. I wanted to share the exciting results when I heard a breath be let out quite harshly, The cobbler had passed out in pain.
"BEE!" I called. Betty opened the door and behind her the whole town, they seemed angry, and scared. And I couldn't blame them. This was unorthodox to say the least. But I could work with this. I just needed Betty's transforming skills to help change the cells in a molecular level. Easy… Right?