[AMY IN DISPATCH (2025)] CHAPTER TEN

The medical wing of the SDN Torrance Branch carried the unmistakable scent of fresh plastic and recently installed equipment, a smell that had not yet faded into the familiar antiseptic aroma shared by most hospitals. Everything in this section of the building was still too new, too pristine, and too recently assembled to have developed the worn-in character that came with years of constant use.

Dr. Elias Moreno, as the head of the department, had some… opinions on that as the department head.

He straightened the collar of his lab coat as he moved from room to room, tablet tucked under one arm, his eyes shifting automatically from vital readouts to patient charts and back again. Years of experience had trained him to process an entire room at a glance, and right now his attention was divided between those and the patient bickering with a nurse about whether or not "being stabbed by a malfunctioning training drone technically counts as an occupational injury, and if he was entitled to compensation on those grounds."

The answer, as always, was yes.

“Stay still,” Dr. Moreno said in a calm, practiced voice as he passed a diagnostic wand across the man’s forearm. “If the drone pierces your skin, it counts. If it was done to you during a routine process while you were clocked in, it definitely counts.”

The patient, a broad-shouldered man—by the name of Slauson—whose armored mask rested on the tray beside him, huffed in mild annoyance but allowed the examination to continue. The wand worked silently, projecting a translucent map of tissue and muscle over the wound. Moreno noted the clean slice and the way it was already beginning to clot thanks to a minor regenerative factor.

The Torrance Branch really did attract some unusual cases.

“Two hours of mandated rest,” Moreno said at last, stepping back, “and no field work for the rest of the day.”

“That’s it?” the man asked, clearly expecting something more dramatic.

“That’s it,” Moreno confirmed. “You will live.”

The patient broke into a relieved grin. “Sweet.”

As Slauson hopped down from the bed and headed out toward the recovery area, Moreno turned his attention toward the next room, already mentally reviewing the recalibration schedule for the nanofabricator. He had just begun planning out the rest of his morning when the doors to the medical wing slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss. 

The effect on the room was immediate.

Nurses glanced up from their stations, a technician paused mid-adjustment, and even the monitors seemed to dip half a beat before thankfully resuming their regular cadence. 

Blonde Blazer had arrived. 

She was not in full costume, which Moreno privately appreciated, since the last time she had walked in wearing the complete outfit the nurses had been unable to focus on their tasks. Even so, there was no mistaking her. Her power necklace rested visibly around her neck, her civilian jacket was worn open, and her expression held that focused, alert look that meant she was here on official business rather than for a casual visit.

And, though he was not a betting man, he could bet anything that the visit had to do with the much smaller figure dressed in what was unmistakably a superhero costume. 

Dr. Moreno stopped mid-step.

“…Oh,” he murmured under his breath.

Blonde Blazer caught sight of him almost immediately, and the smile that crossed her face made it clear she was fully aware of the effect she tended to have on any room she entered. “Doctor Moreno,” she called out pleasantly. “Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always,” he replied automatically, before catching himself and redirecting his attention to the young woman standing just behind her. The girl had frizzy brown curls, a freckled face, and an expression that managed to be both attentive and faintly nervous. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and she held herself with a careful stillness.

His professional instincts kicked in without effort, evaluating posture, demeanor, and stress indicators. Everything about her suggested someone calm, observant, and trying very hard to make a good impression, but there was an undercurrent of appropriateness—for a lack of a better term—that told him she wasn’t a stranger to hospitals. 

“This,” Blonde Blazer continued, stepping aside just enough to properly present her companion, “is the latest addition to your department. I have mentioned her before.” 

Moreno frowned thoughtfully. “The hero from another dimension, correct?” 

The girl winced almost imperceptibly at the description, which struck him as odd, since it was, by all available information, entirely accurate. 

“Good day, Doctor,” she said quickly, offering a small and slightly awkward wave. “I’m Amy Dallon, but you can call me Panacea.”

Despite himself, Moreno felt his eyebrows rise. “That Panacea?” he asked, needing to be certain he had heard correctly. 

Amy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Blonde Blazer folded her arms with visible satisfaction. “As of three days ago, all of her contracts have been finalized. She will be working here as a fully accredited medical professional and as on-call medical support for active heroes.”

Moreno looked at Amy for a long, thoughtful moment.

Then he laughed with the easy, though not unkindly, disbelief of a man who had long since learned to expect the unexpected. “Well then,” he said, rubbing his jaw, “when I woke up this morning with the feeling that today was going to be unusual, I suppose this is exactly the sort of thing I should have anticipated.”

He exhaled once, straightened his shoulders, and allowed his professional composure to settle firmly back into place 

“Welcome to SDN Torrance medical wing, Panacea,” he said warmly. “We have state-of-the-art equipment, a steady stream of high-risk patients, and enough paperwork to last several lifetimes.” 

Amy’s eyes swept briefly around the room, taking in the machinery and bustling staff, and her smile widened.

“That’s perfectly fine,” she replied. “After all, my superpower makes high-risk medical emergencies a non-issue.”

The medical bay was louder than Chase was used to.

It was not truly noisy in the sense of alarms blaring or machinery breaking down, but it was alive in a way that immediately set his nerves on edge. Monitors chimed or constantly beeped, voices overlapped in professional conversation, and somewhere to his left something made an unpleasant wet squelching sound. That was followed almost instantly by a startled laugh and a nurse cheerfully saying, “Please do not hug the healing organism, sir.”

Chase slowed to a stop just inside the sliding doors.

‘…This is new.’

Directly ahead of him stood Blonde Blazer with her hands planted firmly on her hips, her expression caught halfway between professional concern and what the actual hell am I looking at. Beside her, Dr. Moreno had abandoned his tablet entirely and was staring at the scene before him with the kind of wide-eyed academic bafflement usually reserved for groundbreaking discoveries.

And between them were… slimes.

A shit ton of them.

A translucent blue one was draped over a hero’s shattered forearm, knitting bone and muscle back together in rippling waves of bodily something. A smaller green one bounced happily between two Janitors, leaving behind healed burns and freshly restored skin wherever it touched. A red-and-gold slime pulsed like a living heart as it sealed a deep chest wound, while a bright yellow one paused long enough to offer a cheerful salute to a passing nurse before skittering off toward another room entirely.

Chase blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“…What,” he said very carefully, “the actual fuck is going on.”

Blonde Blazer did not take her eyes off the scene. She simply lifted one finger and pointed.

Amy Dallon stood near one of the biofabrication stations with her hood down and her sleeves rolled up, looking entirely unconcerned with the pandemonium she had clearly either caused or made worse. In her palms, something soft and gelatinous was slowly taking shape, membranes solidifying as color shifted from pale translucence to a gentle lavender.

When it was done, she lifted it higher à la Mufasa, squinting thoughtfully.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself, “you are definitely more support-class than frontline, so… hmm.” After a brief pause, her face lit up. “Got it! Welcome to the world, Shion.”

The newly formed slime snapped out a tiny, rigid salute.

Amy smiled with obvious satisfaction, nodded approvingly, and gently set it down on the floor.

Shion saluted once more before zipping off with surprising speed toward a nearby room where someone was loudly insisting that they were completely fine and absolutely did not need medical attention.

Dr. Moreno let out a long, deep breath. “She named it.”

“Every single one of them,” Blonde Blazer replied flatly.

Chase dragged a hand down his face. “Of course she did.”

As if his sheer disbelief had somehow alerted her to his presence, Amy looked up and met his eyes.

“Oh! Chase!” Her entire expression brightened even more, and he had to wonder how that was even possible. “Perfect timing.”

Before he could say anything in response, she crossed the room quickly and gently took hold of his sleeve. She was not exactly pulling him along, but she was guiding him in the effortless way of someone completely used to taking charge.

“Come on,” she said cheerfully. “We have a free room. Ms. Blazer, you should come too.”

Blonde Blazer hesitated for only a moment, casting one last glance at the slime-filled medical area, before following after them.

The private room they entered was mercifully quiet and, more importantly, completely free of animated gelatinous lifeforms.

Amy gestured for Chase to sit on the examination table while Blonde Blazer leaned against the wall with her arms folded and her posture attentive. The door slid shut behind them, sealing out the distant chatter and occasional suspicious squelch.

Amy clasped her hands together with an air of enthusiasm. “Alright, short version first.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “Please.”

“The general consensus,” Amy began, “based on the files compiled by your previous examiners, doctors, and the time-specialists you have been consulting, is that your power grants you control over your local time.”

Chase nodded slowly. He had heard that explanation more than once, ever since his initial meeting with the young woman, and he still did not particularly like it.

“With proper training,” she continued, “you could theoretically reverse the damage your body has suffered as a result of the accelerated aging.”

His breath caught in spite of himself.

“However,” Amy added quickly, “attempting to train before repairing your baseline condition would be a very bad idea.”

Blonde Blazer straightened slightly at that. “Define ‘very bad’.”

Amy winced. “At best, multiple organ failure occurs all at once. At worst, Chase turns into a very fine layer of dust across the floor.”

Chase let out a weak snort. “That is… comforting.”

“So,” Amy said more gently, “before you do anything, we need to reset your body and bring you back to where you are supposed to be biologically.”

She met his eyes with confidence. “That is where I come in.”

Chase swallowed. “You are saying you can actually… de-age me.”

“I am bullshit like that,” she bragged softly. “I will match your body to your real chronological age using medical records, photographs, scans, and confirmation from people who knew you before your powers started causing problems.”

Blonde Blazer pushed herself off the wall. “And after that, you disappear for a while.”

Chase frowned. “Disappear?”

“Closed-door training,” Blonde Blazer clarified. “No field work and no public appearances until you learn how to use your power without this effect happening again.”

Amy nodded firmly. “Once your baseline is stable, training becomes possible instead of suicidal.”

Chase stared down at the floor for a long moment, absorbing everything he had just heard.

Finally, he exhaled.

“…Okay,” he said quietly, drawing in a deep breath. “Before any of that happens, I want to make an official recommendation.”

Blonde Blazer looked at him. “Go on...”