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The world passed Sunderban by. For all the oddity of their presence, none of it was felt by those around them, barely observable. It was through any effort of theirs that mankind barely noticed him -- it was their default mode of being, after their years with the Tiger Heir. Although they were no Dead Apostle, they had functionally been raised by one, trained to behave like one, and no hematophage worth their existence allowed themselves to be spotted by the mundane, and they did not make it easy for the supernatural to do so either. 

There was a sort of simple contentment to be found in 'unobservation', something many of the people in that very city would never be able to experience. To be human was to be caught in a web of observation, each sense connecting to the senses of others in some form or another. Naturally there were those who could escape that web through drastic measures, but that was a course of action reserved for a unique kind of person -- the kind of person who lacked the 'rabbit' in their being; the kind of person who feels no grief in the absence of connection, or better yet celebrates it. 

But that was rarer still. Of course, there were those people who liked to believe themselves 'alone', the sorts who lock themselves in their rooms for weeks on end, or indulge in the underbelly of society, but they were hypocrites. To isolate oneself in the middle of the web was impossible, even if the threads were of a different composition. The connections were still there, influencing them and their state of being.

Sunderban had the unique disposition of being able to enter and leave the web at will. For the sake of their own desires, they had allowed themselves to connect once more by entering Fuyuki City. 

[center][h3]Central Native District
Traditional Compound[/h3][/center]

Problem: A point of operation was required within the confines of Fuyuki City. 

Solution: Establish one

The process of getting from a problem to the desired solution was always the complicated part, but Sunderban was no stranger to appropriating buildings for their own use. Through creative application of their unique condition and the correct alterations to the dosage, suggestibility could be inflicted upon individuals with no real need for preparation outside of that which takes place within Sunderban's body. It was a balancing act between being able to convince an old couple to go spend time with their grandchildren in Osaka, and causing immediate hepatic failure in two already fragile bodies.

But precision was to be expected from Sunderban. Living with what could be called a body of death had honed their control of the ability to an absurd degree in order to avoid instances of complete system failure in those around them. It made for bad business when one relied on being discreet.

With a base of operations and a cover story in place -- Sunderban was to be the pleasant and well-read great-nephew of the couple from the mainland, looking after their property while they were gone -- all that was left was to implement the appropriate 'rituals' to grant them a place to rest after a day of work. 

Feng shui was not an art for the haphazard. Establishing the appropriate placing of particular objects and furniture within a set area allowed for the creation of boundaries which served to benefit Sunderban. Although they were not a true student of the art, there had been some education of it built in with their alchemical studies and the martial arts. Principles carried across in such arts, Sunderban found. An eager student of the deeper secrets of Hung Ga Kuen could become a near equally successful practitioner of wu jing or feng shui should they apply themselves with the time and effort expected, but the time element was what truly stopped most from becoming absolute all-rounders. Dabbling was the name of the game, take what was needed for a particular practice rather than inundating oneself with too many options.

As such, Sunderban converted the home into a location ideal for themselves, taking the same 'principles' he applied to himself and using them on the boundary of the home. It became quiet and ignorable. It became alert and guarded. It became the den of an assassin, hidden in plain sight. 

A place to store weapons and rest ones head. It was perfect for their purposes.

Sunderban sipped from their cup of tea, looking out at the garden in the moon's calming light. It could use some work, but for two seniors it was a good effort. 

[color=fdc68a]"Berserker. Party as you will. I will simply watch from the sidelines, if you are not offended by the notion."[/color]

A simple order, but it was such an order that she would understand best.

Summoning a Berserker was not a curse. It was not as ideal as an Assassin, but a Berserker of her kind had her uses, and she was at her most useful when she was free of complexity. In her freedom, they were similarly free to act as they saw fit. She would be loud and bombastic in her actions, while Sunderban was anything but that.

[color=fdc68a]"... Or you could relax for this night. I care not what you decide to do; I am flexible,"[/color] they said with a care-free shrug, taking another sip from their tea. 

Sunderban could work with a Berserker and their ways, even the one he had summoned. There was more than one way to hunt a tiger, after all.

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Caster was silent, even as his Master spoke to him. They had looked at several locations for their work to begin inside of, and all he had said to indicate dissatisfaction was a simple [color=a187be]"Not this place,"[/color] each time. Eventually, Hippocrates had to settle with the location of his clinic. The city was woefully under-equipped by his standards, but that was also to be expected from any hub of civilisation -- rarely were they equipped to adequately care for those within it. 

One often had to make do with the tools and equipment available to them, but Hippocrates the Second was in a most fortunate position for a Doctor; he had no need to concern for such things. Within him he contained the death throes of the Gods, often called something far more dramatic than they actually were. They were machines, and like any machine they could be repurposed. For Hippocrates, they traded in raw power for the ability to manufacture that which he required for his work. 

[center][h3]Nurse's Office
Fuyuki Academy[/h3][/center]

And so, Hippocrates went about converting the nurse's office of a school into a high-end medical suite. He had to move one of the beds to make room for his equipment, but taking into account the increased average rate of recovery which was brought on by the additional space the lack of one bed was an acceptable compromise. 

[color=a187be]"It's hardly ideal, but it will serve its function,"[/color] the Doctor commented, hands behind his back. The glow of his mask was brightest among the new devices of his clinic. A minor benefit of their location was the ability to educate -- for every young person of foolish heart he attended to, he could instil the value of good health upon them through a lengthy lecture. Good diet, plenty of exercise, and balanced humours were the best way to avoid ill health, and Hippocrates knew enough about the era to be aware that diets in particular were compromised by some utter filth. 

He moved to the window with perfectly paced steps, looking out over the school yard at night. Indeed, the Father of Medicine had not expected to be employed as a school nurse any time soon, but it was an important role nonetheless. The wellbeing of the youth was the wellbeing of the future. Undoubtedly his Master had some other motive, a most frugal method acquired through his life of penny pinching and tactical living, but Caster was hardly interested. 

The world had come far; he was proud of the distant students who utilised his methods years after his death, and glad for the many new discoveries made along the way. Fleming's utilisation of penicillium chrysogenum in particular had caught Hippocrates' eye upon his summoning and subsequent awareness of history, although he saw flaws with it that could be improved through careful engineering -- bacteria could adapt as well as any other creature in a harsh environment -- something the careful application of the Mysteries of Asklepious would help him with greatly.

Mankind had come far, but there was much more to do. His grand work was to continue. The rumble of scientific triumph was sounding in his heart, urging him forward towards the future he saw in his minds eye -- to surpass the frail, to become more than matter and body, a process which began with the defeat of 'illness' and 'death' with the hands of man. 

The shortsighted would hope to stop him for [i]momentary[/i] glory. The battle Hippocrates fought was for glory eternal, owed to humanity as a whole. 

Even still, Hippocrates the Second would [i]Do No Harm[/i].

[color=a187be]"This ritual is diseased, Mr. Oscuro,"[/color] Caster said. With the mandatory preparations were out of the way, he turned his attention to other matters. [color=a187be]"It is currently undergoing a complete system failure. And we Servants, as extensions of the system, are also diseased. I suspect that the malady ravaging the Holy Grail War will cause a shutdown of all vital systems before the conflict's conclusion. This will, in turn, result in a loss of your ability to succeed. The diagnosis is..."[/color]

Hippocrates paused, turning to look at his Master. The Caster leaned forward slightly, raising a finger.

[color=a187be][b]"Hubris."[/b][/color]

He went back to standing upright, the hand returning to join the other behind his back. [color=a187be]"I will require a team of professionals if I am to operate and remove the source of the system failure,"[/color] he advised the magus, turning back to face the outdoors. [color=a187be]"Or we could try it alone. Either way, I leave the decision to you. With that in mind, I believe there are... [i]improvements[/i] I can make on your being, if you are consenting. It will make these next days much more tolerable for yourself."
[/color]

Whatever Hippocrates saw with his eyes, the reflection was hidden by his mask. The offer was genuine, but the nature of that generosity was as veiled as the doctor's face.

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[@Froppy]