The Adventures of Krunch MacKenzie
Episode 2
"Hello, Mrs. Morris?" Krunch MacKenzie flashed his pearly whites as he crossed the threshold into Room 407, Cardiology Wing, Sgt. Maj. Marshall General Hospital, Bramburg Heights, St. Louis, Missouri, United States, Western Hemisphere, Earth, where the woman lay waiting in her bed. With a stout frame, curly white hair, thick glasses, and rosy cheeks, Mrs. Morris looked the part of stereotypical grandmother, as though many cycles of selective breeding had produced this sole specimen in whose DNA resided the exact genetic code needed to produce the perfect apple pie.
(This was, of course, not entirely true. Through some bizarre twist of fate, 48-year-old Dennis Hoftstatler, second-shift warehouse manager of Trenton, New Jersey, also possessed this unique and powerful gift. Unfortunately, Mr. Hoftstatler erroneously believed that baking was the duty of his wife, and thus never discovered that his natural talents could bring harmony to both himself and others. Sadly, as a result of his underlying misogyny, he would never manage to break his bleak pattern of working six days a week and voting Republican, and would eventually resign himself to eating apple pies purchased from Walmart following his divorce at age 52).
Krunch smiled for a few awkward seconds as he waited for confirmation that the live camera feed had cut back to him. Down the hall, a patient began to flatline. "Mrs. Morris, I'm Dr. MacKenzie," he announced, sitting down at the foot of the bed to establish a rapport with the woman. His pristine white lab coat and stethoscope validated his asserted profession. "How are you today?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm doing perfectly well," the woman replied sweetly in spite of the fact that she was currently confined to a hospital bed and in much discomfort.
"That's good," nodded Krunch. He quickly consulted with the chart in his hands to confirm that he was talking to the correct patient, because Krunch MacKenzie does not make mistakes. "So I see that you were in just last week. It says here you had a pacemaker installed. You began experiencing chest pain shortly afterwards, and it hasn't gone away. Is that all correct?"
"Yes, it is," answered Mrs. Morris, smiling at Krunch as though nothing in the world was wrong. Down the hall, a patient began to flatline.
"Thank you, Mrs. Morris," Krunch started, setting the clipboard down and clasping his hands together. He remained thoughtful for a few moments. "Your scans came back from imaging. I wish I had better news for you." The frown on his otherwise boyishly charming face cast a grim picture indeed. "It turns out that there was a problem during the procedure."
"Oh, dear," replied Mrs. Morris, in the same tone of voice she used when she discovered she was out of sugar. "What kind of problem?"
This is always the hardest part, Krunch thought to himself. Down the hall, a patient began to flatline. "Mrs. Morris, the scans show that the pacemaker was not properly installed. And, to be perfectly candid, your heart now seems to be wired up to a Game Boy Pocket."
"...A what?" asked Mrs. Morris, confusion plain on her face. The author of this story was outdatedly assuming that grandmothers in the current era still refer to every aspect of the industry as "Nintendo".
"If it's of any consolation," Krunch continued, "it is a green one."
"I... don't know what to say," said Mrs. Morris, although this was largely due to her lack of context for any of the words that had just been told to her.
"Game Boy Pocket, now that's old school!" Juror Number 7 excitedly announced from the bed on the other side of the hospital room, where he was recuperating from the violent courtroom stabbing that had occurred in Chapter 1. "They leave a game in it or anything?"
"Now, now, Juror Number 7, there is such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality," Krunch chuckled softly, standing up to pull the privacy curtain around the man's bed, effectively blocking him from view. The roommate yelped a quick "hey!" before disappearing from view.
Krunch MacKenzie turned back toward Mrs. Morris. "But to answer his question, yes, a copy of Pokémon Blue is also currently inside your chest" he elaborated. "Which means your surgeon made two mistakes. Because he even had the nerve to boast to me about how he'd caught something called Syphilis on Tuesday night, that lying little..."
"You can only catch Syphilis in Red version, anyway," Juror Number 7 corrected from the depths of his privacy curtain. Down the hall, a patient began to flatline.
"...Did you say you worked for the hospital?" Mrs. Morris asked in consternation, as though the man in front of her was in any way confused about the details of his employment.
"Well, I am wearing a stethoscope," Krunch simply chuckled, too good-natured to be angered by anybody for questioning his standing. "But it's okay. I'm sure you're just worried about what comes next. So, if you want, we'll get you scheduled in for surgery again and get that pacemaker put in you for real this time."
"If I want?" the woman asked, stunned. "But what else would I want?"
"Well, it turns out this... unique situation presents us with something of an opportunity," Krunch admitted, holding his hands open in front of him. "To test something that's only been theorized before. An alternative treatment, if you will."
"I'd really just like the pacemaker I came in here for," replied a frustrated Mrs. Morris. Even a kindly grandmother has her limits.
"I understand your hesitation, Mrs. Morris, I truly do," Krunch urged the woman, "but I'm not asking for anything complicated. All we would do is replace the Pokémon cartridge with Dr. Mario. A professional physician, plugged directly into you! Think of the potential health benefits!"
"I think," Mrs. Morris replied sadly, "I need to speak to somebody about filing a malpractice suit, I'm sorry to say." The weight of disappointment that was levied against Krunch MacKenzie in that moment could not belong solely to the elderly woman; indeed, it seemed as though the disappointment of all grandmothers across the world was being channeled through Mrs. Morris to bore deeply and directly into Krunch's soul. Down the hall, a patient began to flatline.
But Krunch recovered himself. He owed it to her.
"I'm... sorry you feel that way," he replied earnestly. "And I want you to know, if you need to hire a lawyer to represent you in this matter," he continued, tearing off his lab coat to reveal a navy pinstripe suit, "I would like to offer my services to you."
"You're a lawyer, too?" asked a confused Mrs. Morris, adding, "But you work for the hospital. Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?"
Krunch replied in a grave tone. "You'd think so, but the courts have been really loose about that sort of thing lately."