He hardly expects any of his visitors to the clinic these days though, which he supposes is the reason he set it up. Not that any of the people he technically works for like the fact he's running a rogue clinic without any government intervention or sharing his research notes collected there, but they also haven't exactly tried to stop them. Maybe that was because Kit did something to all his adverts? He didn't know with that one. Gotta ask her about it when he's not arms deep in a piece of alien biology and running himself ragged working three jobs. He really should take some time out of dissecting this--is it a cyst? Or some sort of gland?--whatever this is and take a shower. Even Myaxx said he smells funky. And he's not sure if she even has a nose.
Right. Anyway, back to the aforementioned company.
The clinic is dark, having officially closed up shop for the day, the usual denizens of Newt's apartment either asleep or out making black market deals on the dark web for specific parts for her own modifications. There's a dim light that can be seen through the window, an old retro neon sign that Newt bought back with him from Tokyo that had Godzilla breathing fire with every flash blinking dimly in the gloom. But the knock isn't ignored.
He should really start to expect bloodied creatures showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.
It takes a few moments, some low noises of mumbling and swearing as he manages to manoeuvre himself out from behind the desk he'd fallen asleep at can be heard as he tries to pull himself together. And then suddenly the door is wrenched open, and a dishevelled Newt is standing there, with half the keys of his laptop keyboard pressed into his face.
The sight in front of him wakes him up pretty quickly.]
Holy shit! Raiden? [He's going to grab at him immediately but isn't sure where to put hi hands, so just sort of. Gestures at all the patches of blood and makes a high pitched noise, before moving to pull him inside.]
no subject
He hardly expects any of his visitors to the clinic these days though, which he supposes is the reason he set it up. Not that any of the people he technically works for like the fact he's running a rogue clinic without any government intervention or sharing his research notes collected there, but they also haven't exactly tried to stop them. Maybe that was because Kit did something to all his adverts? He didn't know with that one. Gotta ask her about it when he's not arms deep in a piece of alien biology and running himself ragged working three jobs. He really should take some time out of dissecting this--is it a cyst? Or some sort of gland?--whatever this is and take a shower. Even Myaxx said he smells funky. And he's not sure if she even has a nose.
Right. Anyway, back to the aforementioned company.
The clinic is dark, having officially closed up shop for the day, the usual denizens of Newt's apartment either asleep or out making black market deals on the dark web for specific parts for her own modifications. There's a dim light that can be seen through the window, an old retro neon sign that Newt bought back with him from Tokyo that had Godzilla breathing fire with every flash blinking dimly in the gloom. But the knock isn't ignored.
He should really start to expect bloodied creatures showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.
It takes a few moments, some low noises of mumbling and swearing as he manages to manoeuvre himself out from behind the desk he'd fallen asleep at can be heard as he tries to pull himself together. And then suddenly the door is wrenched open, and a dishevelled Newt is standing there, with half the keys of his laptop keyboard pressed into his face.
The sight in front of him wakes him up pretty quickly.]
Holy shit! Raiden? [He's going to grab at him immediately but isn't sure where to put hi hands, so just sort of. Gestures at all the patches of blood and makes a high pitched noise, before moving to pull him inside.]
What! The hell!