The Arbiter

"Darkness and light are easy choices—the extremes. But I exist in the grey, where justice isn’t black and white, and where I, The Arbiter, find my purpose. Once, I was consumed by that darkness. Medicine dragged me back toward the light, teaching me how to mend broken bodies. Yet even as I heal, a shadow gnaws at me, demanding its own remedy. They say Rome wasn’t built in a day—and neither was the monster within me. But unlike Rome, my creation wasn’t a gradual construction. It was a violent eruption, born from the most tragic moment of my life: the cold-blooded murder of my family. I remember that morning with a clarity that scalds the soul. The gentle warmth of my wife’s smile as she stirred awake, her eyes carrying the quiet devotion we had built together. The bounding joy of my daughter, a whirlwind of innocence, as she scrambled onto the bed—her laughter a melody so pure it almost seemed eternal. “Daddy, it’s my big day… yayy!” she squealed, her voice splashing vibrant color across the ordinary canvas of our lives. That day should have been one of celebration. Instead, it became the crucible that burned away what was left of my humanity. In a single, cataclysmic shattering, the man I was died with them—and the Arbiter was born. The light of that morning was blinding. The darkness that followed was absolute. “Julia, no shoes on the bed,” Kate said, her voice carrying that soft, familiar rebuke I loved. The way she spoke Julia’s name was music in itself—gentle, playful, threaded with love. I grinned and winked at Julia. “Let her be—it’s her big day.” Kate’s laughter followed, warm and effortless, filling the room with a sound that even now refuses to fade. It’s etched into me, that melody of love disguised as scolding, a memory I can never silence. Julia was bursting with excitement for her very first ballet class that morning. She’d been dreaming of becoming a dancer for as long as she could speak, twirling through the living room while studying ballerinas on TV. I couldn’t have been prouder of her passion. My wife, ever the gentle schoolteacher, encouraged her just as fiercely. She was the kindest soul I had ever known—the perfect partner, my anchor, my heart. Loving her was effortless. Losing her was unthinkable. Now, I excise the cancers society ignores. I carve rot out of the world the way I cut tumors from flesh—clean, precise, necessary. Blood is my scalpel, and silence my suture. Every life I take is not murder, but correction. Justice unserved, balanced in my grim calculus." That morning was bathed in a soft glow of preparation and shared joy. Julia, vibrating with anticipation for her first ballet class, bounced across the room, her eyes alight with dreams of pirouettes and pliés. And then there was Kate—my Kate. The smile she gave me as she helped Julia dress was more than love; it was a silent promise of forever. Those fragments of happiness, etched into me, are the very fuel that propels my actions now. I was gathering my things for the hospital, content in the knowledge that Kate would guide Julia through her debut with the same grace she carried into everything she did. “Hey, hon,” Kate murmured, her hands sliding to my neck as mine instinctively circled her waist. “Take care of yourself today, and don’t skip meals. I packed you something—you know how I feel about that.” I smiled, meeting her gaze. “For you, I’ll eat on time. Every time.” “Good.” Her lips curved with affection as she glanced at Julia. “We’ll be late if we don’t go.” She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss against my mouth—warmth I can still feel, even now. A final, fleeting touch before everything shattered. I was at St. Andrew’s Memorial Hospital, deep in the theater lights, performing surgery on a patient. What I didn’t know then was that I’d be dancing with blood for a long time—just not always in the operating room. “He’s losing a lot of blood,” one of the assisting nurses said, panic threading her voice. “Hold pressure. We can’t afford a hemorrhage now,” I replied, my focus steady. This was where I thrived—between life and death, holding the balance. Truth be told, I took a certain delight in the precision of my work. “Suture,” I instructed, extending a gloved hand. The needle was placed firmly in my palm, and I continued the meticulous choreography that kept the man tethered to life. “I think the bleeding has slowed,” said the nurse who’d spoken earlier—Lucy Bright, my lead nurse. Older, experienced, the kind of professional who carried her authority with quiet gravity. After surgery, I peeled off my gloves and stepped to the sink, scrubbing the blood from my hands as Lucy joined me. The water hissed between us, a silence heavy with things unsaid. “You should’ve let Stephen observe, at least,” she said finally, her voice low but edged with reproach. “Even if he wasn’t going to touch the patient.” I shook my head, jaw tight. “I can’t, Lucy. A patient died under his hands because of his negligence. Letting him in here again would be a violation of the code—and a noose around my neck with the chairman.” Lucy glanced sideways, her lips pressed thin. “You know who his father is. You know how much money he funnels into this hospital.” I met her gaze in the mirror, my own reflection cold and unflinching. “I don’t care whose son he is. I don’t care how many millions he pours into these halls. My operating room is sacred. I treat him no differently than I’d treat you—or any other doctor.” Her sigh filled the space, half admiration, half exasperation. “Your principles are going to make you enemies, Alister.” I dried my hands slowly, feeling the truth of her words settle like a stone in my chest. “Then let them come,” I muttered. “I’ll still sleep at night.” Lucy gave a small, almost sorrowful smile. “I hope so. But some men don’t forgive righteousness. They punish it.” I paused, her words echoing louder than the running water. At the time, I dismissed them as caution. Later, I would realize they were prophecy. The Bakers were one of the most influential families in the city—a dynasty of crime cloaked in wealth and political power. People didn’t just avoid crossing them; they avoided even whispering their name. Stephen, the youngest son, had been handed a position at the hospital, not through merit but through bloodline and bribes. Stephen’s mistake had happened days earlier—a patient lost on the table because of his negligence. I filed my report honestly, naming the cause for what it was. The hospital tried to keep it quiet, but truth has a way of cutting through silence. The call came the night before everything changed. “Dr. Finch,” the voice was smooth, weighted with power. “Charles Baker. I assume you’ll be revising that report. Call it a natural occurrence. The sort of thing no one could have prevented.” I closed my office door, knuckles whitening around the phone. “Mr. Baker, I won’t falsify records. A man died because of your son’s negligence. To call it anything else would be a lie.” His laugh was low and chilling. “Doctor, you speak of lies as though truth matters in this city. Truth is what men like me decide it is. And I’m telling you, you will change that report.” My heart hammered, but my voice held steady. “Then hear me clearly: I will not. Not for you, not for your son, not for anyone. Medicine is about lives—not your reputation.” A pause, then a shift in his tone—no anger, only steel. “You’re a brave man, Dr. Finch. Brave, but foolish. Principles are costly. I wonder if you’ve calculated the true price.” The line went dead with a click, leaving me staring into the darkness of my office. The silence pressed down heavy, but I told myself I’d done the right thing. I was wrong. That single refusal had set a clock ticking—one that would stop the very next morning, in blood. I had just stepped out of surgery, heading toward my office with Lucy walking at my side. She was like family to me—sometimes a mother, sometimes a sister, always steady. But she could read me too well. She knew Stephen’s case still weighed heavily on my mind. “Hey,” she said gently, nudging my arm. “Don’t sweat it. You did the right thing not letting Stephen scrub in. My only concern was… you know, the Bakers.” I gave a tired half-smile, though my chest was tight. “I know who they are, Lucy. But if I bend now, I’ll never stand straight again. That’s not the kind of doctor I want to be.” She studied me with eyes full of quiet worry. “Your principles are good, Alister. Noble, even. But noble men attract wolves. And the Bakers? They don’t just bite—they devour.” I tried to brush it off, though her words clung to me. “Then let them come. I won’t compromise for them—or anyone.” Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “You sound just like my late husband. He was stubborn too… and I buried him because of it.” Her hand lingered on my arm before she let go, leaving me with a silence heavier than her words. I told myself she was only being overprotective. But deep down, something unsettled had already begun to take root. And then came the call—the one that would change everything. The phone on my desk rang, its shrill tone cutting through the quiet like a scalpel. For a moment, I stared at it, an inexplicable heaviness settling in my chest. Lucy glanced at me, her brow furrowed. “You should answer,” she said softly. I picked up the receiver. “Dr. Finch speaking.” A voice crackled on the other end, strained and official. “Doctor… this is Officer Daniels. There’s been an incident. Your wife and daughter… there was an attack on the road to the ballet school.” The words felt distant, muffled, as though they weren’t meant for me. My hand trembled, tightening around the receiver until my knuckles burned. “What do you mean—attack? Where are they? Tell me where they are!” My voice broke, desperation tearing through my composure. There was a pause. Then, the words that shattered the world I knew: “I’m sorry, Doctor. They didn’t make it.” The phone slipped from my hand and clattered against the floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the hollow space between heartbeats.