Methods
Alan Burton
The Doctor (Eleanor Quinn)
Apparently a very dedicated medical practitioner. Though young, she’s been able to set up her own private clinic in Eastern Europe. Takes her oath as a doctor seriously, even when treating a monster like McCarran. Wears white lab coat for symbolic contrast, also wears black undershirt.
The Assassin (Derek McCarran)
Unprofessional and brash Assassin. Has a rather thuggish view point of his job, alternates between cold and enraged, needs Quinn to patch him up to survive, but is not above mocking her. Recommend he wear black
Setting: A private clinic in Eastern Europe, with a corrupt government.
Eleanor Quinn is in her private clinic, working in the late evening, ensuring that her equipment is clean, properly sterilized, for any potential operations. Though she is tired, maintaining this clinic single handedly in a hostile nation is no cakewalk; her dedication is strong enough that any weariness is secondary at best.
Derek McCarran enters the clinic, clearly in pain, bloodstains on his hands, a mixture of his own and another’s. Despite his wounds, he raises the gun in his hands steadily at Quinn. Quinn is shocked, her expression giving her away, but her voice indicates that she is attempting to remain in control.
Quinn: W-what do you want? This is a free clinic, I don’t have that much money, and” (here she regains complete control, and there is steel in her voice) I will not allow you to possess any of my medical supplies. I need them for my patients.
McCarran says nothing, but makes his way to the nearest seat, pistol aimed at her the entire time, unwavering, as he eases himself into the chair. No expression throughout Quinn’s reaction to his presence, but as he folds into the chair, pain and weariness begin bleeding out into his voice.
McCarran: I’m not here to take anything from you. (Opens his jacket, exposing his wounds) I need your help.
McCarran beckons with his gun. Quinn is hesitant, her eyes on the gun as she slowly makes her way closer, She examines the wounds, mindful of the lethal weapon directed at her. After studying the wounds, she quietly mutters “gunshots” she rises up and faces her new patient.
Quinn: Gunshot wounds. Fortunately, none of the bullets struck a sensitive organ, or doubtless you couldn’t have made it here. But if we don’t get you to hospital, there’s a good chance you’ll bleed out as a result.
McCarran: No. I need you to treat me here. They’ll find me at the hospitals; the police already have my description, and a public hospital just has too many risks. If you even think about calling for an ambulance, make no mistake I’ll kill you.
Quinn: But!?
McCarran: Besides, I just tried to kill Cultural Minister Vladimir Rykov, and you can’t have served in your clinic here for long without realizing how ruthless the government in this county can be, especially those within his faction. They’ll doubtless murder you just for having me here; guilt by association is enough for them.
Quinn…. Very well. Come on; let’s get you set up over here.
McCarran: Only local anesthetics. If I feel a hint of a numbing sensation anywhere besides my wounds, you’ll be getting one of your own for a souvenir.
Quinn: Fine. Here (Injects needle near wounds). Lets wait a moment for that to set in. You have three bullets lodged your shoulder, and you’ll want to feel as little pain for each one I pull out as possible.
Quinn: So how did this happen?
McCarran: Isn’t it obvious?
Quinn: Sorry, being in the medical field, I don’t have much prior experience on how you can screw up an assassination.
McCarran: You’re really lucky I’m feeling lenient Doc, otherwise I’d get the impression you were insulting me.
Quinn: Threaten me all you want, I’ll treat you regardless. Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.
McCarran: You’ve got balls, I’ll grant you that.
Quinn: Hmm. Do you have a wallet? (McCarran nods) take it out.
McCarran: And do what with it?
Quinn: Bite on it, genius. I’m going to take out the first bullet, and it will hurt. (McCarran bites down on the wallet, squirming in pain as Quinn wrenches out the first bullet)
McCarran: Christ, you weren’t kidding!
Quinn: Now let’s patch this up before we go on to the next one.
McCarran: … I was full of myself. (Quinn stares at him, and McCarran continues) I’ve been for hired assignments like this several times in the past few years and, I wasn’t as thorough in watching out for the security detail as I normally am. I’m just lucky the bastard had shitty aim.
Quinn: Three bullet wounds don’t seem to indicate poor marksmanship.
McCarran: It does when your target is five feet away and aiming for the head. He won’t be getting the opportunity to practice at the shooting range for a while now though, if ever. (McCarran smile indulgently with satisfaction at the thought.)
Quinn: Hmpf. (Without warning, yanks the second bullet out, quite viciously)
McCarran: (spasms in sudden pain) AHH. FUCK! Why didn’t you warn me!?
Quinn: Sorry, hearing you gloat about possibly murdering someone just made me rush a little bit. Nerves I suppose. (Not at all sincere, and doesn’t bother to hide it.)
McCarran: (Glares at her, rage bleeding from his eyes) What’s your name Doc?
Quinn: (She is hesitant, thought not out of fear) Dr. Eleanor Quinn.
McCarran: (McCarran’s anger abruptly fades into surprised amusement) Dr. Quinn? Seriously?
Quinn: (A long suffering sigh escapes her lips at the mention of her name) You have no idea how much I crap I received in my residency over that. Took my participation in over three major surgeries for the nickname of “Medicine Woman” to lose any hint of degrading condescension.
McCarran: (Chuckles darkly) I can think of a few other… degrading ways to describe you. (McCarran leers at her, and Quinn wrinkles her nose in disgust.)
Quinn: How lovely. So do you have a name, or should I just call you Mr. morally decrepit sleazebag, and call it a day?
McCarran: (McCarran gives a barking laugh, then, without warning strikes her with the butt of his pistol, hard across the face. She collapses, clutching her face at the sudden pain) talk to me like that again, bitch, and I’ll shatter your fucking jaw.
Quinn: (For a moment, she does nothing but hold face in pain. But she slowly gathers her strength, and with dignity, rises from the floor.) Quite the gentlemen aren’t you? Bite down on the wallet and lets finish this up.
McCarran: (Hesitates for a moment, uncertain whether to continue to harass her or accede to her commands. He opts for the latter, after clasping the gun in a threatening manner. He bears the pain better the third time around, releasing only a mild grunt. ) Damn. That one was really tucked in there. Odd that it didn’t hurt as much as the others.
Quinn: (Quinn looks away from him) Yes, well, the painkillers must be kicking in.
McCarran: Are you telling me we could have waited, and it wouldn’t have hurt me as much?
Quinn: Relax. We needed to remove those bullets before infection set in, and safely patch up those wounds. Waiting for you to feel comfortable would have put at risk. Besides, you’re a big strong man with that gun of yours, I was sure you could have taken it.
McCarran: (gun raised again, once more the prideful killer) Your either very stupid, or very brave Doc, and frankly, I don’t care which.
Quinn: Oh I can assure you it isn’t stupidity.
McCarran: Oh really? Care to explain it to me why you’re so certain Doc? Amuse me for another moment or two.
Quinn: It’s quite simple really. Your incompetence as an assassin is enough to assure me what stupidity looks like, and I’m quite certain I possess none of it. Now let’s take that gun away. (Effortlessly takes away gun from McCarran)
McCarran: What the?
Quinn: (takes off her lab coat, revealing the black undershirt beneath) Interesting isn’t it? That syringe I injected you with wasn’t an anesthetic but a special toxin of my own creation. It’ll keep you paralyzed from beneath the neck for at least an hour. The fact that you didn’t bother to make certain of the syringe’s contents would have convinced me, Derek McCarran, of your idiocy, if I hadn’t already been informed by my employer how utterly foolish you are.
McCarran: You know my- you’re not a doctor!
Quinn: (Quinn pats him on the head in a contemptuous manner) Ah, perhaps you possess some glimmer of intelligence, too late for our employer to consider forgiveness for your botched attempt on the cultural minister earlier today, of course. He was very upset that you were not only seen, but that minister survived with relatively minor wounds. I’m here to make sure you receive the proper punishment
McCarran: How did you-
Quinn: Know that you’d be here McCarran? Suffice to say you’re predictable, and I placed myself here in anticipation of your arrival. The real doctor is in his home, in a drug-induced dreamland. Now, lets finish our business here tonight. (She pulls out another syringe) This little beauty is another creation of mine, and it took some time for me to fix it up. For about 3 or so hours you’ll be experiencing a myriad of excruciating sensations that could very well drive you insane. In the off chance that you retain your sanity and survive the prison camps in this charming nation, it would be unwise to pursue your former employer or myself. We can only be so forgiving in our profession you know. (She injects the syringe, and then takes out a cell phone to inform the police of McCarran’s location).
Quinn: Clearly you should have the wrong temperament for our profession Mr. McCarran. The police will be here soon. Enjoy prison. (As the scene ends, the poison takes effect and McCarran begins to whimper in pain.)