Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 45

Chapter 45: The Scum Doctor Who Can’t Think of a Title

“So… Doctor. You deliberately got yourself locked inside a Columbian federal prison just for an inmate that Silence claimed ‘might become an operator’?” Saria stared down at him, her expression a volatile mix of sheer disbelief and rising wyvern temper.

You casually rubbed your fragile wrist, which had just endured being dragged halfway across the cell block. “It’s not entirely because of Silence. I also happened to resolve the aftermath of the ‘Breath of the Kings’ on the way… Mmph!”

Saria clamped her heavy, calloused hand over your mouth and hauled you into the nearest shadowy corner. Even someone as strictly rational as the former Director of Defense was grinding her teeth. “Is that something you can just blurt out in public?!”

“Relax, relax.” You pried her fingers away, gasping for air. “If you ever got locked up, I’d sneak in to fish you out too. I might even steal a fragment of Yan’s Sui on the way… Easy now, are you trying to assassinate your commanding officer?!”

‘The Witch King liked this post,’ you mused internally, thoroughly amused by your own chaotic behavior.

Saria, however, felt a tangled mess of complicated emotions.

Kal’tsit was like this. Amiya was like this. And now, even the supposedly ruthless mastermind of Rhodes Island was acting exactly the same way.

If a pharmaceutical company truly wanted to move forward in this wasteland, it had to be cold and calculating, using rigid rules to choke out all potential risks. A story where the supreme commander halts an entire operation and personally wades into danger just to retrieve a single, unproven component was as absurd as a children’s fairy tale.

Silence was just an ordinary operator. Even if she used to share a deep bond with the Doctor, she should have naturally grown distant from the executive level during the company’s rapid expansion. Just like… just like what happened at Rhine Lab.

She remained quiet for a long moment. Finally, just as your lungs were about to give out, she slowly released her grip on your collar. “I once thought you would be the one to forge Rhodes Island into a ruthless corporate giant. But it turns out you are just another idealist, arrogant enough to believe you can cover the sky with one hand and shield everyone standing behind you.”

You took a few deep breaths, easily reading the lingering shadows in her eyes. “In Columbia, ‘idealist’ isn’t exactly a slur.” You straightened your coat, your tone shifting into something quietly absolute. “If I have to explain it… it’s simply because I am strong enough. I can support the entire skeleton of this company all by myself.”

Rhodes Island would never end up like Rhine Lab.

Saria’s golden eyes flickered in the dim light. “…I believe you, Doctor.”

He was willing to personally infiltrate a maximum-security prison break over a single passing comment from Silence. But precisely because of that reckless loyalty, she swore to herself that she would never let him drown in the muddy, treacherous waters of Rhine Lab’s internal politics.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cell block, Duq’arael and Wis’adel were locked in the exact same holding cell. Both of them were currently staring intently at the ceiling and the floor, violently refusing to make eye contact.

Duq’arael was so furious he let out a dark, breathless laugh. The Sanguinarch wanted to see just how long it would take for this vastly inferior Sarkaz to finally feel the majestic resonance of their shared bloodline. Just how agonizingly dull could one mercenary be?!

Wis’adel, on the other hand, was taking massive, continuous Sanity damage. Every time she shifted her gaze even a fraction of an inch, she was hit by the critical mental trauma of seeing the ancient Blood Demon Lord in full cross-dressing attire. Yet, the lunatic sitting opposite her seemed to be deliberately trying to max out her psychological damage meter, intentionally flaring his Teekaz blood aura again and again just to bait her into looking back!

Was Duq’arael entirely sick in the head? Did he have some twisted compulsion to force everyone in the room to admire his disguise?

What an absolute disgrace to the Sarkaz!

Both of them turned their heads away in synchronized disgust, mutually wishing they could just punch the other squarely in the jaw. Secretly competing in a battle of pure spite, they completely ignored the shadowy group of inmates sneaking past the iron bars outside their door.

Among that sneaking group, a girl dressed in dusty, oversized prison garb clenched her trembling fists.

Come on, Robin, you can do this, she told herself. Just like in the movies.

But the voice echoing in her own head was harsh and relentless. It’s not like the movies. The cinematic heroes you idolize would never murder a complete stranger for a paycheck. They would be thoroughly disgusted with you by now.

She needed to abandon the childish fantasies filling her head. The heroic thief ‘Robin’ died a long time ago. What she needed to do right now was finish this bloody job and scrape together enough life-saving money for a father who was currently trying to drink himself into an early grave.

Yet the concealed dagger and the garrote wire tucked into her sleeves felt like blocks of ice against her skin. She couldn’t muster a single shred of strength.

This time is different. It’s really different.

She realized it with a sudden, suffocating clarity. In her previous bodyguard gigs, she could still lie to herself, claiming her hands weren’t actually stained with blood. But this time, her employers—the Hydebro front—were genuinely out to slaughter their target.

Her father, drowning in alcohol after his catastrophic bankruptcy, was a sinking ship destined for the abyss. And she was the ridiculously foolish, blind captain desperately clinging to the splintering mast, swearing to go down with him.

The disguised mercenary assassins were creeping closer and closer to Area C, where the target was held. Robin’s chest tightened until she could barely draw breath.

Who can help me? Who can stop me? Or… please, someone just kill me…

Suddenly, a brisk, obnoxiously cheerful voice cut through the tense silence of the corridor.

“Little Raccoon! Hold on a second, is there a little raccoon over here?”

The mercenaries, currently sweating under the pressure of their infiltration, instantly froze. They turned murderous glares toward the tactless youth who dared to interrupt their high-stakes assassination mission.

The white-haired youth, however, acted as if he were completely blind to the lethal intent radiating from the group. Taking advantage of their stunned pause, he practically skipped over to Robin’s side, grabbing her hand with the familiar ease of an old friend. “Beautiful lady, are you a little raccoon?”

Seeming to suddenly realize his own rudeness, the youth took a half-step back, caught his breath, and then delivered an even more outrageous line. “Uh… sorry, I mean, I’ve just always been a huge fan of your species! Could you take a picture with me? Maybe tell me a bit about the cultural heritage of the raccoon-type Perro?”

He offered a blindingly innocent smile. “After all, we’re all stuck in prison together. There’s no rush, right?”

The imposing prison guard standing behind him tapped her heavy riot shield against the floor, her expression completely unreadable as she loomed silently behind the chattering youth.

“Please, Ms. Prison Guard A! I really, really like little raccoons!” The youth begged, bowing his head and clasping his hands together like a massive, fluffy white dog. He used the softest, most pitiful tone imaginable to spout the most presumptuous nonsense.

What was even more horrifying to the mercenaries was that the terrifying guard actually hesitated, as if her strict professional boundaries had been instantly shattered by a pretty face.

You flashed a hidden smile, silently mouthing the words: Please, Saria. I can only rely on you.

The harsh refusal that had been sitting on the tip of Saria’s tongue instantly dissolved.

She swore to the heavens that she had always been a woman of unyielding principle. But when the Doctor looked at her with those eyes and practically pleaded for her help… sorry. No Rhodes Island operator possessed the willpower to refuse that.

I, Saria, swear to remain forever incompatible with gambling, drugs, and this man’s puppy-dog eyes!

Prison Guard A lowered her massive shield, her voice dropping into a sullen, authoritative growl. “Just this one?”

The white-haired youth nodded vigorously, his eyes sparkling.

Saria proceeded to commit a blatant abuse of power that she had never once entertained during her entire tenure at Rhine Lab. She leveled a cold glare at the group of disguised assassins. “…The rest of you, move along. To maintain the secure operation of this facility, guards reserve the right to conduct random spot-checks on an inmate’s personal belongings and mental stability at any given time.”

The mercenaries’ eyes widened in sheer disbelief. They hadn’t even breached the target’s cell block yet, and they were already taking casualties to a random security check?!

Next time we take a contract, the leader thought furiously, we are screening teammates by species. Anyone too cute—especially raccoons—gets cut! They’re a liability!

Unwilling to trigger an alarm and alert the rest of the prison, the mercenaries swallowed their rage, yielded to the guard’s tyranny, and abandoned Robin in the hallway. As for whether this rookie girl lived or died after the assassination went down, none of them cared in the slightest.

Robin stood frozen, unable to tell if she was trembling from terror or overwhelming relief. Whether she lived or died in this hellhole, at least she didn’t have to cross that bloody line today.

The sheer dread of the impending fallout clashed violently with the relief of having the decision ripped from her hands. For a few seconds, the rush of blood in her ears sounded like a high-pitched siren.

Only the youth’s relentless, noisy chatter kept her tethered to reality.

“So, what do little raccoons usually like to eat?”

“Um, I know this might sound a bit rude, but do you guys actually enjoy rummaging through trash cans?”

“Your ears are incredibly cute. Can I touch them?”

Desperate to distract herself from the terrifying reality of her situation, Robin’s brain went on autopilot, answering his bizarre questions one by one.

“Ah… I like apples. And egg yolk pies. My father used to really like pizza.”

“Why would I ever rummage through a trash can? I don’t even have to think about food once my contract pays out.”

“Touch my ears? I guess you can… wait, no!”

Robin’s brain finally rebooted. She shook her head vigorously, her round ears twitching in alarm as the sheer absurdity of the situation finally crashed down on her.

What is wrong with this guy?! Why is he acting like we’ve known each other for years?!

Seeing the little raccoon finally snap out of her daze, you regretfully pulled your hand back. “…Alright, fine.”

…What exactly are you regretting?! Robin screamed internally.

Standing nearby, Saria was grinding her teeth so hard she was in danger of cracking a fang. She genuinely wanted to call the actual police on him right now. This girl’s mental state was already hanging by a thread; the Doctor wasn’t actually going to catch a harassment charge in a federal prison, was he?

Thanks to your relentless distraction, enough time had finally passed. Down the adjacent corridor, the sharp, frantic shouts of actual prison guards began echoing off the concrete walls.

Robin immediately sensed the shift in the atmosphere. She whipped her head toward the noise. “Outside… what’s happening?”

You dropped the enthusiastic fanboy facade in an instant. Leaning casually against the iron railing, you stared down the dark hallway, your eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits.

Why hasn’t Wis’adel shown up yet? you calculated rapidly. Was she intercepted? Unlikely. Who in this facility could possibly stall her? And Duq’arael didn’t chase after her either. Things are getting interesting.

“Dead! That group of inmates from earlier—the ones trying to stage a breakout—they’re all dead! Secure the perimeter!” a guard roared to his squad down the hall.

You glanced sideways, noting with mild detachment that the little raccoon’s face had just drained of all color, turning as pale as a ghost.