route_1065 | Like a surgeon

Albert?

[Reid turns to face the communicator while he's putting his jacket on, his Musharna floating lazily around him like a satellite.] I said I need your help with something. I think I've made a breakthrough with protecting against Psychic and Ghost effects.

[Well, that's certainly worthy of setting aside what he's doing for the moment. He sets the berries down and rests one forearm on the Shuckle to keep it in place on the table, peeling off his other glove so he can pick up the Gear for a better chat.]

Yeah? What've you got?

[He's in Lab Mode at the moment, so his brevity isn't indicative of a lack of interest; on the contrary, he doesn't want to screw around with extraneous words where there is information sharing that could be happening.]

[And luckily, Reid is good enough at his job to interpret it as just that.]

From what I've seen, most of a Dark-type's protection comes from the brain, especially cranial fluid. From my tests on animals, it seems like injecting small amounts of the fluid into other types provide similar protection. Before I tell anyone about it, though, I need to test it on a human and make sure it doesn't have unknown side effects.

[You might see where he's delicately going with this...]

[Yes, see, the thing about Albert is he's not stupid. And maybe that subtle suggestion would be lost on some people, but not on him. This is because unlike most people he is not physically incapable of putting two and two together.]

So in other words, you're looking for a human guinea pig.

[Though he does assume Reid means someone else, because surely no one would be so phenomenally stupid as to try it on themselves.]

[Ha. Yeah, no, Reid's conscience will make him phenomenally stupid.]

And I'm not going to test it out on anyone without testing it on myself first.

[THERE HE SAID IT]

So in other words, you're calling me up like a sensible rational person because you're expecting me to talk you out of it, right?

[RIGHT?]

Because you realize that's what's going to happen here.

No, I actually called you because I can't inject myself in the back of the neck, so it's either you or Mio.

[Do you want the the teenage girl doing it, Albert?]

[Good question! Let's see what Albert thinks about that...]

Are you out of your mind?

[Welp.]

I don't give a damn if she's the peanut butter to your jelly, you're already cracked as it is for thinking I ought to be going after the back of your neck with a needle, much less handing it over to Princess Wallflower to take a stab at it!

[You know, considering that was exactly the intended response, Reid does a pretty good job of keeping a straight face and looking innocent.]

Well, that's why I asked you first. So you'll do it?

No, I'm not going to do it, you've got an IQ of five hundred and two and you can't think of a single better option than shooting yourself in the head with spooky monster juice?

[Don't mind him, he's just ranting here. The Shuckle beneath his forearm is beginning to look mildly alarmed.]

What if it does have side effects? Suddenly we're a man down and you're stuck in a hole again!

One hundred and eighty-seven. I have an IQ of one hundred and eighty-seven. That's the highest anyone can score on the IQ test I had, which is the most common version used currently.

And besides, even on the version of IQ test with the widest known bell curve, the highest IQ ever recorded was two hundred and twenty-one.

[Yes, Reid is good at tangents. Hey, you said something wrong, so he needs to correct it!]

Yeah, and I four-pointed English Lit. The word is hyperbole.

[Being a loveable nerd will not save you this time, kid.]

Are you even listening to yourself?

Well, of course I am. I'm not exactly asking you to do this on a whim.

There are three options--abandon the research, test it on myself, or test it on another person. Yes, it's standard for people to test on others, and under normal circumstances, that's what I would be doing. In this case, I don't have the time or the resources to put together a medical trial, or even to follow one of the most basic tenants of human subject research: provide protection from physical, mental, and emotional harm.

[To be honest, he's actually terrified of this. He does value his own well-being. His sense of morality outweighs his fear, though, and like hell will he admit to being scared.]

I'm not going to ask someone else to be tested on under those conditions if I'm not ready to do the same. [And, well, he trusts you if something goes wrong.]

[Hnnnnngh. This is among the many reasons why he hates Johto — because while he's right, and they both know it, the fact remains that Reid's got an equally good point too. He's hit his own snags in his research and ended up making compromises (albeit none quite so drastic as this) before. Sometimes that's what you have to do: weighing the costs and benefits and making the call, even if neither option is a particularly good one.

And what bothers him most, ultimately, is that he knows Reid wasn't exaggerating in what he said earlier. Saying no isn't going to stop him. It's just going to make him seek out the shrinking violet to do this for him, and it's not like she's going to have the wherewithal to say no to him.

Costs and benefits. Reid's determined to get this juice in his head. Now it's just a question of whether it gets in there safely, or in some back-alley procedure at the hands of a high schooler in need of a self-esteem check.]

How sure are you that you're going to come out of this okay?

I am 97.984% sure. My estimate is that there's a 2.016% chance of something going horribly wrong, but of course, that percentage goes up considerably if it's not administered professionally.

[He has been pretty damn exhaustive in his testing, analysis, and safety precautions. Believe it or not, he's not interested in taking risks with his brain. Yet there's always a margin of error, and he's all too aware of the fact that in this place, logic can't always be relied on.]

At least you did your homework.

[Not that he would've expected Reid not to, but y'know, it's always reassuring to hear it anyway.]

And what's your Plan B if it does go horribly wrong?

I always do.

[Reid ducks away from the camera for a moment, reappearing when he's holding a wiggling pink Happiny. The girl had been trying to scurry across the floor with Reid's glasses, which he's carefully extracting from the baby Pokemon now.]

Plan B? Hospitalization and waiting it out. My brain can't naturally recreate the fluid from a Dark-type, and I've mixed in three different inhibitors to keep it from absorbing too quickly. If something goes wrong, it's likely only temporary, and I'd be back to normal in a while once it worked its way out of my system completely. [And if the effects are potentially permanent, Plan C: Albert will fix it.]

[Plan C is what he's afraid of. Not because he doubts that Plan C will work, of course, because it will. But Plan C usually entails a certain terrible period of waiting in-between its commencement and its conclusion, when he's running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying everything he can think of while the weight of necessity bears down on him.

Plan C has a very high success rate. But that doesn't make it a lot of fun to enact.]

I doubt this damn place would let it stay permanent. Some string of mutations went through back in the summer — I showed up right on the tail end of it. Coop still had scales at that point. But whatever it was, it wasn't anything I did that finally go it to go away.

[And stop being the same person as Cooper, why don't you. Jesus.]

All right. Are you coming over to the lab?

If it really is based on a children's game--which, considering my experience and the fact this very franchise exists in our world in my time, seems strangely likely--permanent tragedy would go against the grain. This world leans towards unnatural peace and simplicity.

[Reid gives Albert a small smile. He knew you'd come through.] I'll be right there.

[He finally extracts his glasses from the pouting Happiny, pushing them up his nose. He'll be glad to get out of the house, anyway. He suspects that a few animals are nesting in the walls, since he keeps hearing noises and it always unsettles him to hear things he can't find the source of.

He turns off the communicator. Some time later, there will be a knock on Albert's door.]

[Albert's waiting, of course, and has been for a while now since Reid got off the line with him. He's also come rather close to breaking one of his own house rules — no smoking inside, you take that damn thing out onto the back porch where it belongs — out of carefully-suppressed nerves, tapping his unlit cigarette against the back of his hand and rolling it in his mouth as he waits. Maybe it's fitting somehow, that he's spending that waiting period in the front room, in the chair Reid got him for Christmas, with the not-cat Cooper got him for his birthday snuggled contentedly in his lap. Either way, he's waiting.

Just waiting.

But he's on his feet fast when the knock at the door comes, and he carefully shifts Estelle out of the way before heading briskly to the door to answer it, the cigarette still hanging almost absently from his mouth. He does, however, remember to remove it before he tries speaking.]

Hey. C'mon in, it's freezing out there.

[Reid really hates it when he makes Albert take out those cigarettes. A profiler knows.

But nevertheless, what must be done must be done.

Reid gives a small smile before stepping inside and unzipping his jacket. Better get this over with.] Is everything ready?

[And though he hopes Albert doesn't offer, he's ready to turn down any offer for painkillers. He really doesn't care how uncomfortable a needle in the neck is--the only form of anesthetic he'd even consider would be sleep powder.]

Seems like I should be asking you that, and not the other way around.

[It's a small touch, that he pockets the unlit cigarette rather than disposing of it somehow — which means it's one of his favored brand, the ones that came with him from home, which are now in painfully short supply (and the ones Johto sells just don't measure up). Must be a special occasion.]

So what, you want to pretend like you're just here for your seasonal flu shot? In and out in twenty minutes, lie down on the table and hug the teddy bear so you don't feel the "little pinch"? I hope you're not expecting a sucker when this is over.

[Reid has always disliked cigarettes. His mother smoked like a chimney once upon a time, and the smell of tobacco always reminds him of a person slowly breaking apart, physically and mentally. So it's particularly difficult to see one of the 'special' cigarettes broken out for him.

Yet he doesn't give any indication. He'll probably just reflexively give Albert a 'six minutes less of life' warning if he lights up soon.]

Well, I figure that it's better to not work myself up over it. That won't help anything. [He hangs up his coat, then readjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder.] I have everything except the syringe and the antiseptic. [Which is pretty normal. Reid avoids handling the syringes when he can help it, and he knows that Albert has a healthy supply.]

[Truth be told, Albert sort of dislikes them, too, but there are a lot of things he dislikes that he still contends with anyway. Like idiots. And murder.]

I've got both in the back. What are you thinking, in terms of staying conscious versus having me put you under? The one's going to hurt a hell of a lot more, but at the same time I don't know if I really want you unable to tell me to stop while I'm shooting this junk into the back of your head, either.

No narcotics, please. [He said that a little too fast. There's the vaguest hint of a blush, but he quickly moves on.] I think it's probably best if I'm alert for this. I'm okay with needles, anyway.

Let's get started. [He starts walking towards the labs, still hoping that Albert didn't notice his slip.]

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