Magnificent Magnus Mace

Just a Low Life Doctor

The black luxury sedan pulled to a smooth stop at the corner of Central Avenue, parking three blocks away from City General Hospital. Magnus pushed the door open, stepping out onto the cracked concrete sidewalk.

"Sir," Jackson called out from the back seat, rolling the tinted window down a few inches. "I can purchase the medical board before noon, and we can fire the entire administration staff by lunchtime."

"Leave them alone, Jackson," Magnus replied, adjusting the collar of his stained medical coat. "I need to maintain this position for a little longer."

"They will not treat you well today," Jackson warned, his deep voice thick with concern. "The news of the divorce is already spreading through the corporate networks, and it will reach the hospital gossip circles very soon."

"Let it reach them," Magnus said, offering a calm nod to his loyal butler. "I want to see how these people act when they think I have no power."

Magnus walked the remaining three blocks, blending in with the morning pedestrian traffic. He entered the main lobby of City General Hospital, where the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol and bleached floors filled the air. He walked past the busy reception desk, heading toward the surgical wing, but a tall figure deliberately stepped into his path.

Dr. Roberts stood in the middle of the corridor with a smug grin on his face, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He was the senior attending surgeon, a man who cared more about his golf handicap than his patient survival rates.

"Well, look who decided to show his face in public," Roberts chuckled, taking a slow sip from his cup. "I am honestly surprised you did not jump off a bridge this morning, Magnus."

"Move out of my way, Roberts," Magnus said calmly, trying to step around the man.

"I do not take orders from you anymore," Roberts shifted his weight, blocking the path again. "The receptionist down at Kensington Corporation talks to our head nurse, and the news travels very fast. Christina dumped you."

"My marital status is not your concern, Roberts," Magnus replied, keeping his voice perfectly level.

"It is my concern when it affects the hierarchy of this hospital," Roberts laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several passing nurses. "You walked around here like you owned the place, taking the best surgical cases, and bossing the residents around. You only got away with it because your wife bought your respect."

"I earned my respect in the operating room," Magnus corrected him, staring directly into the older doctor's eyes.

"You earned nothing," Roberts sneered, his face turning red with sudden jealousy. "Christina donated the new imaging machines last year, and the board rewarded you with the lead trauma position. She sponsored the pediatric wing, and they gave you a private office. You are a terrible doctor, Magnus, and you have always been a fraud."

"Is that what you tell yourself to feel better about your surgical failures?" Magnus asked softly.

"I have saved countless lives," Roberts shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Magnus's chest. "You just stood in the spotlight while real doctors did the heavy lifting. Do you remember the mayor's wife last month? You took the credit for that bypass surgery, but we all know the board forced the chief of surgery to guide your hands."

"The chief of surgery was sitting in his office during that procedure," Magnus reminded him.

"Liar," Roberts spat, taking a step closer. "Now that the Kensington money is gone, the real power in this hospital will shift back to me. You are nothing without her backing, and everyone in this building knows it."

Magnus let out a genuine, rumbling laugh. The sound echoed down the sterile hallway, confusing the small crowd that had gathered to watch the public confrontation.

"What is so funny?" Roberts demanded, dropping his hand to his side.

"You think medical skill is determined by social hierarchy," Magnus smiled, shaking his head slowly. "You think wealth and corporate donations hold a scalpel or stitch a torn artery. Real medical skill is measured by who can pull a patient back from the edge of death, and you have always been too slow to do that."

"I will have you fired for talking to me like that," Roberts sputtered, gripping his coffee cup tightly.

"You can certainly try," Magnus walked past him, his shoulder brushing against the angry surgeon.

As Magnus walked down the long corridor, his mind drifted away from the petty jealousy of City General Hospital. He remembered a time long before he ever wore a cheap white coat, a time when the stakes were truly a matter of life and death.

His grandfather had fallen critically ill five years ago, coughing up dark blood in the master bedroom of the sprawling Mace family estate. The family had panicked, using their infinite wealth to hire the most prestigious doctors from around the globe. Those modern experts had run their machines, prescribed their synthetic drugs, and ultimately failed. They had stood in the grand hallway, shaking their heads, and told the Mace family to prepare for a funeral.

Magnus had refused to accept their failure. He had bypassed the modern medical establishment, searching the hidden corners of the world for true healers. The family brought in ancient masters of forgotten medical arts, men and women who understood the raw flow of human vitality.

Before Magnus ever attended a standard medical school, he studied intensely under those masters. He learned the pressure points to stop internal bleeding, the ancient herbal composites that accelerated cellular growth, and the precise, terrifying speed required to perform surgery without modern machines. He had saved his grandfather with his own hands, mastering an art that arrogant fools like Roberts could never comprehend.

Magnus pushed the memory aside as he approached his private office at the end of the hall. He reached into his pocket for his keys, but he stopped immediately. A maintenance worker was currently scraping the gold lettering off the glass door with a sharp razor blade.

Dr. Steven, the head of the medical board, stood next to the door with a thick clipboard pressed against his chest. He was a short, balding man who cared exclusively about the hospital profit margins.

"What is going on here?" Magnus asked, gesturing toward the worker.

"We are reclaiming hospital property, Magnus," Dr. Steven said, not bothering to look up from his clipboard. "Please hand over your office keys immediately."

"This office was assigned to me for the next three years," Magnus stated, narrowing his eyes at the head doctor.

"Contracts can be broken, especially when the circumstances change," Steven smiled a greasy, condescending smile. "The board held an emergency morning vote, and we decided your current output does not justify a private workspace."

"My output?" Magnus asked, stepping closer to the older man. "I performed more successful cardiac surgeries last month than the rest of the department combined."

"Those numbers are highly subjective," Steven waved his hand dismissively. "The reality is that you no longer have the financial backing of the Kensington family. You are just a low life doctor now, and low life doctors do not get corner offices with a window view."

"You are evicting me because of gossip," Magnus said, looking at the laughing staff members gathering nearby.

"I am relocating you to your proper station," Steven corrected him, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "There is an empty desk in the basement cubicle farm, right next to the laundry chute. You will share a computer with the night shift interns. Gather your personal items and vacate this hallway."

A group of junior doctors and nurses had gathered near the water cooler, and they openly laughed at the head doctor's harsh words. They had always resented Magnus for his quiet confidence, and they eagerly enjoyed his public downfall.

"Take his leather chair to my office," Roberts called out from the back of the hallway, walking up to join the mocking crowd. "He cannot handle real pressure anyway. Send him down to the basement, Steven. Let him fold towels if he gets bored."

The crowd of medical staff laughed louder this time, pointing at Magnus's coffee stained coat. They felt safe mocking him, believing his protective shield was completely gone.

"Do you hear them?" Steven asked, gesturing to the laughing crowd. "Nobody respects you here. Hand over the keys, pack your cheap stethoscope, and go to the basement before I suspend your privileges entirely."

Magnus looked at the mocking faces, cataloging every single person who chose to laugh at his expense. He did not feel angry, but he felt a cold, calculated patience settling over his mind. They worshipped money, they worshipped status, and they had absolutely no respect for the sacred duty of saving lives.

"I will go to the basement," Magnus said softly, silencing the laughter near the front of the crowd.

"Good boy," Roberts mocked him, clapping his hands together slowly. "Learn your place in the food chain."

"I will go," Magnus continued, ignoring the interruption, "but you will regret sending me there. When the surgeries fail, and when your wealthy patients start dying, do not come downstairs to beg for my help."

"Nobody is going to beg you for anything," Steven rolled his eyes, signaling the maintenance worker to finish scraping the glass. "You are delusional. We have the best staff in the city right here in this hallway."

"We will see about that," Magnus replied, turning his back on the office.

The arrogant smiles were still plastered firmly on their faces when the main elevator doors chimed loudly at the far end of the corridor.

The doors burst open with a violent crash.

"Emergency in the trauma bay!" A paramedic screamed at the top of his lungs, sprinting down the hallway with dark blood soaking through his uniform shirt. "We need the head surgeon right now. We are losing him.”