https://ficbook.net/readfic/1288350 (original text)
- How do you get our fighters to a professor's checkup quickly and without hemorrhoids? - Angie sat down on the edge of a polished worktop and took away his brother's cigarette. He took it away every day ten or fifteen times, gently "advising" Demon to quit smoking. The demon never arose because of the STD, not even looked at the wolf. Just passing a minute, he pulled out the tutu. He snapped his dead pale fingers, and the next cigarette was set on fire itself. - The last time they managed to get lost in the city and instead of going to the hospital to the casino, and then - on the strip show - he threw his head back, pressing a smile with one memory.
But the demon didn't smile.
- Escort them.
- Well, no, Dee. It's a shame. They are not small, not from kindergarten to the excursion with the teacher. They have to. So what should we do? How to exile them?
- Like in the Russian army - without any explanation. Nobody likes doctors. The minimum of information is the minimum of problems - the black commander has moved the ashtray to himself. The bright one only wrapped his shoulders around his shoulders. Damn cigarettes.
- Are you sure?
- Evening training camp. They are waiting. Lined up to bow. Just go to them. Say it - Demon pointed his hand at the door. She started to open silently.
The angel nodded, but kindly opened the door was not used: went through the floor, down, flying a hundred and fifteen floors, no, one hundred and sixteen. Ten seconds later, he was already standing in front of ELSSAD, habitually causing a wave of sighs and a delightful whisper.
- A squadron of protesters! A year has passed and I need to send you back for a medical examination. Tomorrow at eight o'clock in the morning, arrive in the second building of Hospital No. 1 at 56-59 Macaloa Street. Dismissed.
There was a rumble in the ranks.
- What hospital?
- Which building?
- Let's call Hell... What?
- And we went to all the rooms in a row...
* * *
Fragment from the report by Mori Greene, senior surgeon at werewolf hospital:
"I had two self-complimentary kissing guys with wildcat stripes. They were so passionate that they knocked over the table and threw themselves past it. One hurt his neck, the other broke his arm. After X-rays and plaster, he played cards with them until the night. Blowed out half the equipment.
A fragment of an explanatory urologist's report:
"So I wake up in my closet, the hanger presses on my shoulders, the door is locked, and I can vaguely hear a boy in uniform sitting at my desk and actively communicating with a jar of medical alcohol. I start kicking at the door, which is what he yells at: "You've had enough, mate, hang back!
From the service note of the pathologist:
"He was forced to leave his post in the basement because several bodies left the morgue and headed for a bar on the first floor of the hired building. They drank all the vodka and whiskey, then said they had the wrong door. We couldn't identify them.
From the ENT report, enclosed in the medical card of the fighter number 16:
"The patient suffers from a severe form of deafness. All my questions were answered: "I want an enema, I was promised an enema, why did they fool me again?
From the report-complaint of the therapist, received the next day:
"Three unknown people stole me in the morning from my workplace and tortured me with a tickle, demanding to give me where the medicinal blueberry jam is stored. In response to the offer to go to the ass ominously replied that the proctologist had already had, but found no jam.
From a long explanatory note by Liam van Helm, a freelance psychotherapist:
"I just sat down for a glass of tea with a nurse, as here in the office climbing through a barrel of something, silently locks the door and studies me with a long inquisitive look.
- Sit down? What's bothering you?
- A piece of bacon stuck in your hair.
- But I don't have bacon in my hair.
- It's coming up.
From an ophthalmologist's report, crumpled and found at the bottom of a paper basket:
"I saw the ELSSAD team members. I did not find any deviations in my eyesight. However, they were constantly sniffing and digging through my robe pockets.
From the neurologist's report about the fighter #9:
"The patient would string flies on a string and let them crawl across the table in line. He asked me to calculate them for the first or second. In response to a polite refusal told me to knock each hammer on the knee.
* * *
In the evening, the ELSSAD press center heard a call to the red phone. Chief Process Engineer Hell himself left Commander A. a thirteen-and-a-half minute audio message. Where in the mildest terms he asked not to bring the unit to the hospital without the escort of the senior punitive commander D.