SUP Chapter 33: Reaper! Reaper?

Slashing himself twice? No problem.

Even stabbing his heart twice would be fine!

What was this?

Pure [Berserker] occupation experience! Ian felt a pang of regret, wishing he’d built a better rapport with Tessa, the reaper. Otherwise, he’d have shamelessly begged her for a long-term curse.

“Not that close, but I can still be shameless,” he muttered.

The glass doors of Metropolis General Hospital reflected Ian’s ironclad face. He stared at his blurry reflection, fingers unconsciously rubbing the pendant on his chest.

“Right, I’ve got the reapers’ boss watching me… there’s a chance, there’s a chance. If the Marvel Universe has Deadpool, the DC Universe should have one too!”

Ian found his moral high ground, marveling at the reapers’ authority. In Supernatural, didn’t reapers have the power to resurrect people?

Honestly, the show was so old that even with his stellar memory, Ian couldn’t recall all the details. As he considered building a mind palace, a shout interrupted him.

“Move aside!”

An urgent cry came from behind. Ian sidestepped as an ambulance gurney sped past, its wheels screeching on the tiles, brushing his shoulder.

The man on the gurney had an ashen face, a steel rod protruding from his chest, blood dripping in a broken red trail. In any world, the working class faced hardship and danger.

“Capitalists should all hang from lampposts, except me. I’ll be a conscientious capitalist,” Ian said, knowing even crocodile tears couldn’t save the dying man.

All he could do was avoid troubling the medics.

Following the signs, Ian found the inpatient building. First, he visited the restroom, emerging ten minutes later, energized and cheerfully cleaning his blood-red knife.

Good thing no one saw.

Inside the inpatient building, a young nurse with a chestnut ponytail was organizing charts at the station, her hair swaying with her movements.

Ian steadied his breath, flashing a perfectly timed smile. “Hello, I’m a student from Brewster Public High, writing a school report on the Starlight Airlines Flight 143 crash.”

“Not just society, but us students care deeply about the victims. Could you tell me which ward the survivors are in?”

Ian kept his politeness, tweaking his voice to fib a little. He wasn’t a high schooler, but that didn’t stop him from posing as one.

“Interviewing patients?”

Nurse Kate frowned initially, but upon seeing the strikingly handsome boy, her plain face transformed like a Sichuan opera mask.

“The Starlight Airlines patients? Students these days are so compassionate.” She might have refused at first, but now her attitude was genuinely warm.

The power of good looks kept rising.

“Yes, I’m a campus reporter,” Ian said, pulling his psychic card from his wallet and flashing it. But the nurse kept staring at his face.

Her ears turned slightly red.

“…”

Ian, unwilling to waste a magical item, held the card closer. Finally, it worked its magic.

“Wow, you’re the campus chief reporter? So impressive,” she said, proving women knew how to provide emotional value. She even stood, left the station, and pointed the way for Ian.

“They’re in Ward B, rooms 32 to 40,” Nurse Kate said, standing close. Ian could feel her sniffing his body wash.

“I can take you there.”

Her enthusiasm persisted.

“…”

Ian politely declined, realizing he’d met a real female wolf today. Nurses, no matter the country, were indeed the boldest women.

“Thank you! You’re a true angel!”

Ian fled, maintaining his courtesy.

The nurse might be thrilled all day.

Ward B reeked of disinfectant mixed with medicinal odors. Ian searched and entered a room housing a crash survivor.

“Hello, I’m…”

Ian pulled out his psychic card again.

“Reporter? No, a kid?”

The man nearest the door, leg in a cast suspended in the air, sized Ian up and asked in a hoarse voice.

“You here for a patient?”

He’d clearly misunderstood.

“No, no, I’m a campus reporter. Our teachers and classmates are concerned about the crash, so I’m here to check on everyone,” Ian said, slipping into his role. As the child of two journalists, he had a natural knack for playing reporter, looking the part.

No one doubted him.

Like some flaunted iPhones or luxury cars and watches, Ian showed off his “borrowed” psychic card to every survivor he questioned.

He gathered plenty of information, though most was useless.

For instance, the flight attendant in Bed 20 said Superman’s arms were as reliable as steel. Ian agreed, having felt those solid arms since childhood.

The businessman in Bed 19 insisted the plane was shot down by a green laser, complaining investigators didn’t believe him. His words gave Ian some useful info.

The old woman in Bed 17, a Gypsy, mysteriously claimed Superman smelled of rot. Given her identity, Ian lingered a few extra minutes.

But aside from, “You carry an ominous air,” “A great, great ominous air,” and “I can give you a discount,” Ian, fearing she’d next say red fur would grow on him, ended the conversation. He got no further useful info from her.

Until the man with the cast, watching Ian question others and take notes, spoke in his hoarse voice.

“Superman smelled like chemical waste from a sewage plant. I worked at one for twenty years; I’d never mistake that stench.”

This was the most useful info Ian had gathered. At the corridor’s vending machine, buzzing loudly, he bought a city map to locate nearby sewage plants.

“Bed 43’s patient is crashing!”

Medics rushed past with a defibrillator.

Ian looked up.

In the room, doctors worked to save the patient, while beside the bed stood a woman, unseen by all, gently watching the patient.

“Tessa!”

Though she’d changed her look, or rather, her outfit, Ian’s sharp eyes recognized her from afar as the reaper who brought him here.

He waved at her.

The fake-smile boy tried to mend their relationship.

“Hm? Human? You can see me?”

The reaper looked up, mouth slightly agape in shock. Her expression puzzled, her gaze at Ian filled with confusion beyond surprise.

As if she didn’t know him at all.

[NEXT CHAPTER]