Gregor Eriksson's Questionnaire

I live on the streets of New York City. Didn't always. I grew up in Buffalo, on a little street not far from the Peace Bridge. Might talk about it more later.
I worked in one of the hospitals of NYC for a nearly 15 years, but I can't work there any more. Lost everything. No real family to turn to. Never really had any friends - too busy working. Sleep in various places, despite the trouble of doing so these days. Under stairwells and overpasses, on various public benches, abandoned subways. Pretty much anywhere I can find to lay my head without some roided-up prick in a uniform coming around looking for an excuse to bust head in. It's exposed, it's never the same place, and it always comes with trouble. It's home.

Panhandling, mostly. I won't pretend I've never used my size to pressure someone into feeling charitable. I've also pulled a 'Foul Ole Ron' with my pox. Nobody wants to be around a towering stinky leper, and sometimes it's just less of a bother to give me a dollar. I spend it on what I need - mostly cheap food, and replacing my necessities. Probably the weirdest thing I keep is a proper first-aid kit. A length of propylene sutures, a curved surgeon's needle, a tourniquet kit, a sling, a wrap of bandages, gauze, and all the other necessities. No painkillers. Tough to get when you're not in practice, and the thing's been stolen by jackasses and had to be replaced a few times. I don't know why I bother with it. I guess because the few times that it's been useful made it feel worth it.

I've lost it all. My health, my home, my family, my career, my security, my self-respect. You name it - I probably ain't got it. Except some bizarre case of the plague and the sweet luxury of stinking, worn-through rags. I want it all back. I want to sleep in a bed. I want regular access to indoor plumbing - that's one of the ones you really don't think you'll miss as much as you do until you don't have it. I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I've been through. I want to be helpful, not helpless. I'd do anything. Well, not anything. I'm not some kind of psycho. But I'm sick of it, and I'm going to die sooner rather than later, whether from pervasive disease, getting shanked over a medkit, or whatever else this unfair world cares to throw at me.

There've been a few big ones, but the worst has definitely got to be the one that threw my life completely upside down. I was working as a both a diagnostician in internal medicine and trauma surgery in the ER - treating people who'd been in accidents, altercations, shootings. I've probably removed more bullets than any battlefield medic in my time, as long as you don't consider NYC a battlefield, which, you might.
Anyway, a few years ago it turned out that I had - get this - leprosy. Nobody gets leprosy, at least in the states. I had never treated anyone with it. Nobody with it had been in the hospital. Came out of nowhere. Couldn't be treated. But the hospital couldn't have me working there like that, so out I went and onto the streets, and I've been stuck in the squalor ever since.

Clarice Vimes is a doctor I used to work with in the ER. She's ten years younger than me, so I was already somewhat seasoned when she transferred there freshly after finishing her internship. We were intimate, at one point. She was pretty clingy, but since I was such a workaholic she couldn't stand how little time I made for her. She's looked to check in on me a few times a year, ever since I lost my medical license, and gives me a bit of money for some essentials.

Steve Mason is a homeless man who showed me the ropes after I lost my license. Good spots to panhandle and lay into people and get them to hand over the money when they were being stingy*1, where's good to sleep, what places are good for free food, what to avoid. I really might be dead by now if it weren't for him. He's about the same age as me, but he's been out on the streets longer. He was mostly coherent when I met him, but he's gotten less and less well-off in a pretty short period of time. He still talks to me sometimes, but he always accuses me of being an impostor. About six months ago he told me, "They did a really good job on your face. It looks just right, but something's off".

Emilio Castille is an acquaintance I made after becoming a contractor, and I've been living with and working out of his flat. I met him through his cousin, Shawn Brown. Shawn took some lead, near his heart, and one of his guys who'd caught word of my black market doctoring called me up. I not stabilized him successfully, but after I stitched him up it was like he'd never been shot at all. He told me that he figured that I must be the best doctor ever, and that's why I lost my license. Man tryin' to keep me down. I didn't argue. When he asked Emilio to let me stay with him, Emilio was pretty freaked out, but between Shawn's undulations at my incredible medical expertise and my explaining lying that it was a genetic condition, and thus, not contagious, he relented.

*1 I've seen the guy walk up to people who are situated and just start rambling crazy things at the top of his lungs while waving a paper cup around until they'd put a tenner in it to get him to fuck off

I was born and raised in Buffalo, New York to a single mother. I loved her dearly. She was also always a little paranoid, seeming to put her trust in me alone. She put her whole life aside to raise me, and I always worked hard in school to be able to take care of her. By the time I was entering high school, she was beginning to show signs of schizophrenia.

I fit in alright. Good grades, moderately athletic, and I was always taller than all the other kids in my year, so nobody ever really wanted to be on my bad side either. I never really had any close friends though. Didn't have money for sports, and I needed to spent all my time studying. I felt I owed it to my mother. I guess maybe in hindsight I should have worked more on connecting with other people. If I had, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did for me. But I guess I'm a contractor now, so maybe it was all for the best anyhow.

I was, with the previously mentioned Clarice Vimes. We met on the job. It wasn't like love at first sight or anything. We worked together for a while, got to know each other, and weren't on bad terms or anything. Went out for drinks with other co-workers a few times.
I think what changed the dynamic was one specific night. Her sister had committed suicide and her family was in disarray, and she came to me to lean on. Now, I know what you're thinking, that I was taking advantage of her, but that's not what happened. I consoled her, and afterwards she began flirting with me. I wasn't sure at first, it was a little comment here, or there, but after a while of my not picking up on it, she came out and asked me directly if I felt that way about her. And I didn't. She was a co-worker, and a good friend. But she was also very pretty, and we got along very well, so I agreed to try it. I'm not sure exactly when I fell in love with her. I don't even know that I had realized that I had until we were already broken up.

At this point? I have a few. I don't know if they're better or worse than the ones I had before. That I'll die on a contract to some horrible thing. That my leprosy*1 will eat me up before I have the ability to cure it. That the THING*2 from the manor in Michigan will show up and rip my lungs out through my back if I'm alone for even a second. Or that I'll get myself busted and jailed if my illegal medical startup gets found out by the wrong people.

Why? Because having my life ended or ruined all over again after I've just regained hope is a pretty scary thing.

*1 I'm not sure what exactly it is, but it's not normal leprosy. It doesn't respond to anti-biotics, and there's no discernable point of infection. I recently gained the ability to infect with a variant of it at will but it seems like it's more of a curse than a disease. What is even going on?

*2 The Shapeshifter from the Michigan Manor took on at least a few different forms: Something large with paws and claws that nobody ever witnessed and lived to tell of, but of which we found evidence. Some small creature like a mouse, though we never spotted that either. A weird, slimy tentacled creature with human feet and a weird casing at the top of its body that held its brain. And the forms of two different people, one an eastern european man, and the other, a traditional looking anglo-saxon.

I was never really a materialistic or sentimental person to begin with. I always just saw my previous (relative) wealth as an appropriate reward for my hard work and contributions to society. After I lost everything, I didn't really have anything to "prize", although it made me appreciate what little I still had. The people who helped me keep my head above the water.

I'd say the thing I prize most is my mind. I don't mean that in a self-aggrandizing way, just that the skills I have give me live my life in a way that I find meaning in. The physical competence that's kept me alive through the rougher parts of my contracts; the medical skills that have let me help those in need and give my fellow contractors the safety net they need to take what risks are necessary to complete the jobs. Not many people can do the things that I do and I'm thankful for all the qualities that make me who I am.

The biggest problem in my life right now would be the disease that put me on this path in the first place. If there's such a thing as fate, it sure does seem to be funny like that. Not to be too seremonious, but one of my patients told me once, "If God made everything there is, that means he made a sense of humour. So he presumably has one."

I'm displaying symptoms of multiple different contagious diseases, but am not implicitly contagious. I can infect others with a rapidly-advancing version of it at will and the prognosis seems bleak. Besides my apparent impending doom, my progression seems to be taking its toll on my appearance, which is going to eventually start causing problems with my clients. Nobody's going to want medical care from a man who looks like he's a walking biohazard, or probably be around them at all, and I'm still too rattled from my first job to make it by myself.

After managing to control my phobia long enough to get to sleep, I wake up and feel the shock of being alone. Usually Emilio wakes me up by just being so noisy - who would have thought this line of work would make me appreciate an inconsiderate roommate. That's all assuming I don't get woken up in the middle of the night to stitch together some hothead who got himself messed up breaking the law and can't go to the hospital.

Anyway, I wake up and do all the normal morning maintenance stuff. After that, I usually have infrequent patients coming in. The people who just fell between the cracks of the healthcare system, or who don't care for premiums. I'll usually get a lull a bit before lunch and head out and check on my former fellow residentially disenfranchised. Some of those guys looked out for me when I was down, so I'm just returning the favour.

I'm not really sure I could manage to look my best for anything, considering my current circumstances. I guess try to cover as much of my skin as possible. I've been thinking about getting a proper mask but it's still on my todo list. Guess I'd have to expedite that.

So, I'd cover myself up properly, gloves, mask, long coat, maybe a nice shirt and long pants. Something baggy - tight is going to show the lumps which is hardly a feature of a handsome physique. I have most of that stuff already so I guess it'd just be finding the mask. But what would be appropriate to cover my whole face? Maybe a plague doctor's mask?

Could you imagine? Someone wearing something like that to try to look their best. But with the way my face is going it would be an improvement. Maybe a proper face mask would be good too, like Baldwin IV.

I'll probably be working on my next birthday. I did that kind of thing most of my life. Since I got out of medical school, most of them might have been small symbolic ones from co-workers. Except for when I was with Clarice. Maybe if I can find the time I'll go find Steve Mason and some of the guys I was camping out with after the first job. Not really sure I want to celebrate with Shawn and Emilio, which is maybe a bit harsh since I guess I'm saying I'd rather go celebrate with homeless people. I don't think Clarice is an option. I don't want her to see me. Not the way I am now.

I think my behaviour after I lost my medical license was my biggest regret. I was so down bad that I gave up on anything except trying to survive. Even before I got my gifts, it's not like I wasn't a great doctor. There are a lot of people I could have been helping those few years, but I just spent it wallowing in my own emotional filth. Probably the part of it that hurts the most is the personal one. I stopped being able to support my mother and I found out that she passed away at some point during my time on the streets. I want to say that, given her condition, maybe that was for the best. That might even be factually true, but it sure doesn't feel that way. It's kind of weird, to say it feels like telling the truth, but lying to myself. I'm not sure how else to describe it.

I guess my gifts come through in a few different ways. They mostly revolve around healing wounds and inflicting disease, but their relation to my own potential varies. Some of them feel like extensions of my inherent potential. Some of them feel related to the nature of my bizarre affliction. And while some of them seem to be based on superficial extensions of my skill as a physician, they're clearly well beyond the range of the mundane in their implementation. The harbingers definitely do not just grant my wishes. I took the Hippocratic oath. I still stand by it. Why on earth would I want others to have to experience what I went through when the whole reason I'm doing all this is to eliminate disease? They still haven't even granted me the ability to do that, by the way. Aside from the enhancements to my medical skills, I still haven't been given the ability to actually cure people of disease.

I wasn't raised under any specific religious dogma, but my mother always various sorts of spiritualistic beliefs. I'd describe it as a faith in supernatural forces, but given the state of the world and my particular situation I think it's important to specify that I think she'd been inclined to something a little different. Growing up, I didn't really share any of her beliefs, and she never tried to force them onto me. I guess I was always a sort of materialist atheist, but I didn't really think about it too much. I was always too focused on my work. I always figured there was some sort of scientific explanation when the supernatural became obvious to the world. Given the line of work I've gotten into, I guess that might not be the case, but I'm still not really sure. I do think if there's any sort of power above ourselves, like a more traditional deity, it must be a pretty callous one.

Based on my experiences, I think it's hard to say specifically whether they conflict, but I'll do my best to explain.

I've seen a lot more supernatural things than generally come to the public eye. Enough that if it was always like this, there must have been a hell of a conspiracy to cover it all up. I heard the expression: Bees conspire not to sting, nor birds to sing. Peas in a pod don't need a reason to stick together; they're bound by their circumstances. I really can't imagine what circumstances would allow something as commonplace as the supernatural seems to be to go so unnoticed though. It's like finding out that the world is indeed flat. There just seem to be too many working parts, too many people involved. But maybe with the supernatural at your disposal, something like that could be a little easier. Like the Men in Black just wiping people's memories.

But I suspect something a bit different. I think the supernatural wasn't always so widespread. I think these unusual happenings, or at least how common they seem to be now, are the symptom of a relatively recent circumstance. And as always, pursuit of my own goals makes me somewhat indifferent to the truth of the matter.

The Contractor I have the most familiarity with is Boss Bear - Harry Johnson. He's the leader of my criminal organization, and I've gone on three contracts with him. He's a Russian battle maniac whom I've seen take down everything from a former heavyweight champion contender, a master ninja, to even a goddamn tank. He insists on calling me Care Bear. He's a bit of a rough sort, but he's really helped me out and always seems to have my back. Other members of my organization that I've met include Iktan, a Honduran occultist, and Ainz, a rich Arabic scion.

As far as jobs go, I've worked a few times with a man named Eric Baron. He's some kind of ex-military guy. He's a bit paranoid, but he's solid in a fight and pretty trustworthy. I haven't seen him since I joined MAUL though. Hope he's doing alright.

Bev Good is a former med student I've done two jobs with. We were going to collaborate on a bit of organ harvesting and forming a medical organization based in NYC when I was still there, but I haven't talked to them much since I moved out to San Fran. She's a bit touchy. Had to convince Boss Bear not to kidnap her once. 

An airtight, perfectly pressurized hermetically sealed room, with state of the art air filtration systems, and security systems to keep anyone from accidently wandering inside. Not so much out of fear of them contaminating it, but its contents from contaminating them. A cleanroom would need to be passed through to enter or exit. It would be hidden away in the MAUL bunker, and filled with laboratory equipment and samples of every infectious disease that exists. It's kept spotless, and there are a few assistants with biohazard suits on tinkering away on my work, and focused on nothing else. Down the hall are separately roomed test subjects, there of their own volition to assist me in my work of curing and inoculating humanity of the various viruses and bacteria that plague it, which ruin the lives of those in their prime, and which take from us too young our loved ones.

The thing I excel at is the application of medicine, including surgery. If you ask me what my philosophy on it is, I might have to answer in a somewhat roundabout way. It's not so much that I have some sort of principal or view of how I think it should be done as much as that I'm just following my own desires and impulses. I like to save people. Maybe it's sort of like some kind of complex. It's my reason to be. And after all I've seen in my practical experience, and my own experiences which have led me to this point, I don't want people to have to go through those things. I'm not trying to cure death. I think it's a natural consequence of life. But I don't want people to be taken before their time. To have the richness of their lives and their loved ones tainted by the tragedy that disease inflicts on them. Not even just death, but the opportunities lost. The things that they could have accomplished and pursued if only, if only it hadn't been snatched from them by circumstances far beyond their control. I put everything into that goal, to make up for the time I squandered. I want live and pursue that dream in a way where even if I don't make it, I can die confidently saying that I did everything I could.

A lot of other contractors are a bit... atypical, psychologically. I'm not a psychologist, of course, but I think if you asked other contractors they'd tell you the same thing. I'm probably one of the more normal ones, funnily enough. I'm obsessive over my work, sure, my Limits are those of a pretty normal person. I've somehow avoided murdering anyone as part of the jobs so far. I haven't been tortured. But I have seen some pretty horrific things, and some of that's left a mark on me. Even now, eight months later, I still can't stand to be alone. It's a good thing I have my goons with me.

What would it take to make me break them? I won't hesitate to say that for some small harm, the pursuit of my goal outweighs it. If I succeed, how many lives could I save? How many people could have their quality of life improved? I've already saved over a hundred people with the curative I concocted. I've helped many more who couldn't afford care by treating them, saving some lives, and improving the quality of others. I'm not a person obsessed with ethics or morals, but I don't think anyone could say with a straight face that what little harm I might do isn't far outweighed by the help I offer.

A soundtrack? That one really came out of left field. I've never really thought about describing why a song would represent me, but I'll try my best.

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash: This song resonates with the pain I've endured, the scars that linger from a life turned upside down. It's a reminder of the regrets that weigh heavy, the losses that haunt my every step.

"Scarborough Fair" by Simon & Garfunkle: The melancholic melody of this song echoes the longing for a simpler time, for innocence lost amidst the chaos of life. It speaks to the nostalgia for a past that feels out of reach, a time before everything fell apart.

Frédéric Chopin's Piano Sonata No 2 in B flat minor, Funeral March: The solemn notes of this piece capture the somber reality of my existence. It's a reflection of the darkness that surrounds me, the constant reminder of mortality and the inevitability of death.

"Tap Dancer's Dilemma" by Diablo Swing Orchestra: This song mirrors the chaos of my life, the unpredictable twists and turns that define my journey. It's a reminder of the struggles I face, the battles fought against unseen forces lurking in the shadows.

"Lullaby" by The Cure: The haunting melody of this song speaks to the inner turmoil that plagues me, the restless nights haunted by memories of what once was. It's a reflection of the loneliness that envelops me, the longing for solace in a world filled with darkness.

"Heal the World" by Michael Jackson: Despite the pain and suffering that surrounds me, I cling to hope for a better tomorrow. This song inspires me to believe in the possibility of change, to strive for a world where compassion triumphs over cruelty.

"Changes" by David Bowie: This song captures the essence of transformation, of embracing the journey of self-discovery and redemption. It speaks to my relentless pursuit of growth, of overcoming the past and embracing the changes that lie ahead.

I figure my answers feel a bit stiff but this one really took me out of my comfort zone.

I don't believe that it will. My ambitions were already pretty high. Curing all disease is not an easy task, and I don't know if I'll be able to accomplish it. But, I have made a lot of headway. I've made friends with fellow contractors, specifically the MAUL crew and Dr. Laz, who can help me with this goal. I guess if I ever do succeed, I won't have any more reason to do this, although really have no idea how I would ever go about that.

I guess maybe one addition I might have is to get rid of those assholes, the Sons of Salem. They've put me through a lot of trouble for trying to help people and made some pretty heinous accusations against me.

I guess the execution of the ambition might change as I gain power though. It opens up new means to pursue my goal.

Y'know, one job ago the first thing I would have said is "Jacob Sterns". That kid was annoying the hell out of me. But after the latest one, his noble and selfless sacrifice nearly bring me to tears. What I thought was the worst contractor I'd ever come across turned out to be the best. But I guess this isn't about things that make me sad.

The Sons of Salem definitely make the list. Those fanatical jackasses have made things very inconvenient for me and I would be stuck not able to do much at all if not for Dr. Laz. I heard he got himself mixed up in something real bothersome lately. Hope he's doing alright. Anyway, they go around calling anything they don't understand evil, and since they're all idiots that makes all of my efforts to help people "evil". They'd be doing some real great work if we wanted to live in the stone age. Maybe they do want that, though.

I guess other than that, there hasn't been too much lately. I'm not really an angry person. Anger doesn't really solve problems. It can motivate you to act, but if you already have resolve and self-discipline, it doesn't really do anything but cloud your judgment. For the things I'm motivated to do, clear judgment is important. For he careful precision of medical care, the clarity of your memories, the the rationale you apply in a situation where everything is going wrong and you need to handle things in a concise and expeditious manner.

After all that, I'm definitely angry about how I lost my license. My insurance didn't pay out and everyone left me out in the wind. I gave everything to help people, and when I needed it, pretty much everyone left me to rot. Still, I've found a second wind. I'm over it now, and my resolve is stronger than ever.

I guess it depends on how you're looking at. Generally, I try to keep my diseased status a secret from non-contractors or MAUL members. I also try to keep the fact that I'm dead a secret from those I'm not close to, or my identity to anyone new that I meet. Sons of Salem forcing me to act like a shady bastard. Which, I guess I am.

Other than that, I'm pretty open. There's nothing about my goal that needs to be hidden. I'm happy to share my what my abilities do with the contractors I'm working with. MAUL has gotten a bad reputation with some of the contractors, but of those that I know, Iktan, myself, Crew, we're all pretty alright guys. Boss Bear is a little rough. And I'm not sure about that mind controlling guy. He keeps his cards pretty close to his chest, but he's an effective operator for sure.

I'd say "The Cure", but I'm pretty sure there's a really lame rock band by that name, or something like that. Maybe "The Panacea" or "The Doctor". I imagine some of them would call me "The Plaguebearer" after getting a look at me. A year ago, if I hadn't gone through all this, I'd think to call myself that.

I'd probably give people contracts based on helping people. Sorting out problems among the homeless. Getting good people in hard positions to medical care, or procuring rare cures for obscure diseases. Fighting's okay. I'm apparently not too shabby at it for a contractor, especially given that I'm a doctor. There was an interesting one I did revolving around a hospital. Some of these mystery hunt contracts are rough though. I'd probably at least give people a bit more direction since I'd be asking them to do things I want done. Not just these weird sadistic tests some of these Harbingers like to pull off.

What timing on that. That just happened. I don't really know that I'd set up a memorial. He was just boy. I guess technically, his body isn't even dead; just his soul. Me and the other guy did loot his body though. If I could, I would bring him back, but I think due to the nature of how he died, that's not going to be possible.

I've seen three other contractors die so far. First one was a boy, on my first job. He had some kind of weird shoes that made him move super fast. Not sure where those ended up.

The second one, on my third job, was some kind of cop. I don't think he really had anything, but Eric took his gun since we needed one.

The third one, on my eighth job, was an inventor. I'm not sure how exactly he died, but I heard about it afterwards. He had been shooting at us, probably to suck up to the Sons of Salem. Maybe they didn't like it when he failed.