Simon's purpose in life was lost long ago. He'd spent quite a few nights staring at the moon's reflective on the ocean, and envisioning a plunge of no return into its depths. The waters would cool him. They'd flow around and through him, numbing him to the world as the coerced his final breaths away.

As a doctor, he knew drowning wouldn't work that way. The process would be excruciatingly painful as salty water filled his lungs and burned him. Besides that, the heroes would pull him out long before the process commenced.

They'd fly in with their shiny armor and majestic weaponry, pull him out of the water, and present him to the townspeople like a trophy. The villagers would sing their praises. "How pure are our heroes. Willing to pause their busy days to save a useless doctor." Simon would drip before them, each drop stripping a bit of his dignity to the ground as the hero would smile and fly off to slay a dragon or evil empress.

Once they left the townspeople would glare at him with contempt. They'd ridicule him for being a worthless doctor in an age of magic, painting their town in a negative light before an idol.

Yes. Drowning in the ocean would play out exactly like that. Just like every other aspect of Simon's life, he'd fail. His hospital had failed and closed years ago. Fooloshly he'd painted a red cross on a sign and placed on the front door of this house, unable to accept the truth. People didn't need medical doctors anymore. Magic beat science ages ago, he was simply a relic.

The thought pained him in more ways than one. He should have felt glad people didn't need him. That meant they were healthy. At the same time, it also meant his life's purpose was useless. A doctor with no patients is a mere man who read a science book.

In his most selfish moments, Simon would wish upon the stars for someone to fall ill. For someone to need him.

Simon sat at his study, watching those stars twinkle when a the sound of his front door opening startled him. Burglars? But he had no money. He opened his door a crack and poked his head out. Five men wandered his hall, their muddy books squeaking against the unpolished tile. A woman dangled in their arms.

The squeaks irritated Simon's ears, and the subsequent groan he produced caught the men's attention.

One of them asked, "You're the doctor, right?" The hall was dimly lit so Simon could barely make out his facial features, but his eyes were so wide the whites glowed. Simon leaned back toward his study, sensing potential danger but the man said, "My wife is sick. She needs help."

Simon froze, then frowned. Was this man taunting him? He opened the door and said, "If she's sick call a hero. The ones who can heal do so instantaneously."

The four husband shook their heads gravely as the husband said, "No. We called a bunch of them. Even Electra, but whatever she has is extreme. They can't figure it out. Doctor, plea-"

His voice trembled and trailed off into a high pitched squeak that Simon felt penetrate his body and stir his arm hair. Simon spoke as calmly as he could. "Ok. Carry her to your left. There's a room with a queen sized bed in it, place her there."

The men left as Simon grabbed a face mask and a pair of gloves from his study. They were dusty, and defeated the purpose of the equipment, but he wore them all the same. The smell of latex brought him back to his days at university, when he was young and dreamed of saving the world. He spoke those memories out of his head and walked toward his first patient in thirty years.

She lay naked on the bed, and her husband was fighting another man in the corner of the room. "You just wanted to peek. He didn't say anything about her being..." The voices trailed away from Simon as he stared at her. She lay so still. Only under the stern scrutiny, could one notice the faint and slow rise of her chest.

Simon paced to her as the sound of pounding and slamming continued. He placed a hand on her chest, then neck, then forehead. Each one was burning more violently than the last, and the heat made his own head sweat. Her eyelids twitched under his touch, and a slight relief came when her face scrunched up.

That relief vanished when the coughs started, so forceful the bed creaked under her twitching body. Simon took his hand off her like a guilty party as the sounds of fighting ceased.

"Doctor, what are you doing? Please help her." One of the men said, Simon couldn't tell who.

Her face grew crimson and purple veins popped out of her neck as she hacked.

Simon retreated. Stared. Then rushed to his medicine cabinet. Nothing but expired pills and liquids lay there. He had no money to update his stock, and doubted merchants carried the old goods anymore. He jumped as he heard a man whimper, "Please God. Please" behind him and the room closed in.

Simon's breath shook as he gripped the cabinet for support. Had he wished for this? The pills he clutched probably wouldn't do anything to help, but they were something. It went against all medical practice, but the medical field hadn't lived long enough to condemn him.

He had to try something, even if the woman died here. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't try to save her. Simon rushed back to the bed as the woman's husband stroked her hair and planted tearful kisses on her temple.

He saw Simon and opened his mouth a speak, but nothing but choking sounds came out as he hyperventilated. Simon shook the bottle of pills for no reason at all as he nodded to the man. He hoped the nod was comforting, as sign that he knew what he was doing.

Then he prayed he knew what he was doing as he opened the pills and a golden flash filled the room. The cause stood in the doorframe.

Golden eyed, tall, with blue puffy hair. The number one medical hero in the land, Electra. The air paused in her presence as she eyed Simon. "You're the doctor?"

Simon no longer wanted to be, but he nodded out of habit.

Electra walked to the bedside, and the men parted for her. She placed both hands on the woman's chest, and a blue light emitted from them.