Medical System Rising: Rise Of Joseph Briggs

CHAPTER 2. A Master’s Praise, A Disciple’s Jealousy

The Hall of Healing, New York General, Morning.

The hall shimmered with polished marble and ceremony. Sunlight filtered through glass mosaics depicting ancient physicians and their sacred seals. 

Every apprentice stood in formation, white coats crisp, eyes forward. A single name murmured through the crowd like a ripple. “Joseph Briggs.”

“Doctor Briggs,” a voice called over the comm, “please step forward.”

Joseph hesitated, feeling every whisper pierce his back like needles. The applause was polite, hesitant, edged with envy.

At the front stood Master Bill Gates, draped in his ceremonial robe of blue and gold, a symbol of the highest order of healers. His expression was composed, almost solemn.

He lifted his hand, and silence fell. “Last night,” Bill said, voice deep and resonant, “one of our own achieved what centuries of theory claimed impossible, he revived the Golden Pulse.”

Murmurs swept through the audience. Some astonished. Others doubtful. Bill turned toward Joseph. “Apprentice Briggs defied convention and returned a child to life. He has reminded us that medicine is not only skill, it is courage.”

Polite applause echoed. Behind the sound, tension thrummed like electricity. Joseph bowed. “It wasn’t courage, Master. It was instinct.”

Bill’s eyes flickered, admiration, then warning. “Instinct without discipline becomes recklessness.”

From the back, Marcus Caracas clapped slowly, sarcasm curling his smile. “Then we should all be reckless, shouldn’t we? Perhaps miracles will rain from the ceiling.”

A few chuckles. A few uncomfortable glances. Bill’s tone cut the laughter short. “Miracles are not toys, Doctor Caracas. Nor are they excuses for arrogance.” He rested a firm hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Let us honor what was done, and remember what must never be repeated.”

He held Joseph’s gaze a heartbeat longer, then stepped back. The ceremony ended with applause that felt hollow.

As Joseph turned to leave, Marcus’s whisper brushed his ear like a blade: “Enjoy your fame, golden boy. It burns faster than you think.”

Tea steamed between them. Ancient scrolls lined the walls, their ink pulsing faintly with preserved energy under protective glass.

Bill poured slowly, his motions deliberate. “You disobeyed the hierarchy. Again.”

Joseph sat stiffly. “I saved her life.”

Bill nodded. “You did. And in doing so, you reminded me of myself, young, foolish, convinced compassion was enough.”

Joseph frowned. “You don’t regret saving lives.”

Bill’s gaze turned distant. “I regret the ones I couldn’t save after.”

He stood, pulling down an old chart, golden meridian lines interwoven with symbols that glowed faintly when touched. “The Golden Meridian Flow. You awakened it last night. A current that links life and spirit. Beautiful, yes. But unstable.”

“I felt it,” Joseph said softly. “Like the heartbeat of the world.”

Bill’s eyes darkened. “That heartbeat can drown you if you chase it too far. Those who tried before, their minds fractured. They began to hear the pulse of heaven... until they forgot their own.”

Joseph’s hand trembled slightly. “But what if it isn’t madness? What if it’s truth?”

Bill sighed. “Then truth demands a price we’re not ready to pay.” He looked up, voice quieter. “A healer’s duty is not to challenge heaven, Joseph. It’s to listen to it.”

Joseph lowered his eyes. “Then maybe heaven should listen back.”

For a long moment, only the sound of pouring tea filled the silence. Then Bill said, barely audible, “You remind me why the world both needs and fears us.”

When Joseph left the room, the master’s gaze lingered on his cup, where faint golden ripples danced briefly across the surface before fading.

The study chamber buzzed with the low hum of training modules. Transparent holograms of patients flickered in the air as apprentices practiced energy-channeling techniques.

Marcus Caracas stood at the front, explaining a simulated cardiac restoration with textbook precision. “By maintaining chi flow along the Third Meridian.”

“Try the Fifth,” Joseph interrupted absently, eyes on the hologram.

Marcus turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

Joseph approached, adjusting the model’s energy lines. “The Fifth Meridian connects directly to the pulmonary circuit. If you bypass here,” He gestured; the holographic pulse stabilized instantly.

A murmur of approval rippled through the apprentices. The simulation’s vitals turned green. Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Impressive improvisation. Dangerous, but flashy.”

Joseph smiled faintly. “It worked.”

Marcus slammed his palm on the control pad, dispersing the hologram. “You think breaking rules makes you enlightened?”

“I think following them blindly makes you blind.”

The air crackled between them. “Enough,” Bill’s voice boomed from the doorway.

The room froze. He stepped forward, eyes moving between them. “If your pride exceeds your healing, you are no healer at all. You will both work together on the upcoming clinical trial. Consider it a lesson, to learn from one another.”

Marcus stiffened. “With respect, Master, that’s unnecessary.”

“It’s final.” Bill’s tone left no argument.

As the students bowed, Marcus leaned close, his whisper venomous. “You think heaven chose you, Joseph? Let’s see if it still smiles when you fall.”

The city glowed outside, a network of veins pulsing with light. Franca stood by the window, hair loose, tablet in hand, scanning the hospital newsfeed. 

“You’re trending again,” she said dryly. “Headline: Golden Apprentice Revives the Dead.”

Joseph groaned. “They exaggerate everything.”

“Maybe. But they’re not wrong.” She turned, smile softening. “You did something no one’s done in centuries.”

He tried to smile back. “And already half the hospital wants to burn me for it.”

Franca’s expression darkened. “They’re saying you used sealed techniques. The Syndicate’s watching.”

He looked away. “Rumors. They’ll fade.”

“No, Joseph,” she said firmly, setting down her tablet. “You’re not some lone healer in a backstreet clinic. You’re part of a system, one that crushes anything it can’t control.”

He stepped closer. “I’m not doing this for recognition. I just want to heal.”

She sighed. “Then let your master take credit. Publish under his name. Let him shield you.”

“I won’t hide behind anyone,” he said, eyes fierce. “Truth doesn’t need permission.”

Franca’s voice trembled. “And what if truth kills you?”

Silence stretched. The hum of the city below sounded like a distant heartbeat. He reached for her hand. “You married a healer who listens to life, not laws.”

She looked at him, love, fear, pride, all tangled together. “Just promise me you’ll come home tomorrow.”

He didn’t answer. When she finally turned away to rest, Joseph stood by the window alone. The skyline’s lights reflected in his eyes like tiny constellations.

On his wrist, beneath the sleeve, the golden rune pulsed faintly, once, twice, in rhythm with the heartbeat of the city.

The digital corridor glowed with cold blue light. Marcus Caracas slipped inside, coat collar up, eyes darting.

He inserted a data chip into the main console. Screens flickered, showing footage of the previous night’s surgery, Joseph’s hands moving in the forbidden pattern.

Marcus slowed the playback, pausing on the exact moment golden light bled across Joseph’s skin. “Not medicine,” he muttered. “Magic.”

Footsteps echoed behind him, a security guard passing. Marcus hid in the shadows until the sound faded.

He copied the footage onto his chip and ejected it, staring at the frozen image on the monitor, Joseph’s eyes bright, alive with impossible power. 

Marcus whispered, “Let’s see how the Syndicate defines miracles.”

As he turned to leave, the monitors glitched, golden static flickering across every screen for half a second, like the hospital itself had seen him. He froze, breath shallow. Then it was gone. Only silence remained.

Joseph walked through the quiet garden, dew glinting on steel benches. Patients and staff greeted him softly, some grateful, some curious.

Across the courtyard, Marcus stood beneath a tree, arms crossed. Their eyes met for a moment, polite, distant, and filled with invisible war.

Joseph’s pulse hummed faintly, a low vibration beneath his skin. Something in the air felt alive, listening.

He looked up. The hospital tower shimmered in the sunlight, each window catching the morning like a thousand eyes.

High above, in his office, Bill Gates watched from behind the glass, expression unreadable.

For a fleeting instant, Joseph thought he saw a faint golden reflection cross the master’s wrist, and then it was gone.