E-Rank Medical Mission Board: Paperwork Deliveries
Shinda received the assignment as a clerk at the intake desk slid a clipboard across the counter and nodded toward a single reinforced box resting against the wall. It was sealed with red tape, the department stamp pressed neatly into the lid: Patient Intake. Dates were written in careful ink along the side. For him this had become almost routine work, something he had learned was also necessary work. “Medical Records, lower wing,” the clerk said, Shinda gave a short nod and turned away.
The hallways near intake were busy, voices overlapping as patients were checked in and nurses moved past him going back and forth. Shinda adjusted his grip to keep the box steady, holding it close to his chest so the contents wouldn’t shift. He walked at an even pace, sidestepping traffic with minimal effort. As he moved deeper into the complex, the noise faded from the bustle of the general hallways. The smell of antiseptic softened into dust and old paper as this part of the hospital felt removed from urgency. Here, there were very few people, only records preserved and waiting for if someone would need to retrieve old documentation.
The filing office sat behind a reinforced door marked with faded lettering. He would carry the box to the archivist inside, who checked the seal to ensure that it had not been tampered with. “Patient Intake,” the archivist confirmed, Shinda immediately nodding in confirmation. Shinda watched as the box was placed onto a waiting cart, carefully with others from different departments. His gaze moved between the various boxes, personally thinking of just how many people had come through this place for treatment. How many had relatively sensitive information just stored here? His head would shake slightly, dismissing the wayward thought before turning to leave after watching the archivist walk with the cart, his form disappearing into a maze of shelves.
With the task complete, Shinda didn’t linger around as he had other tasks to perform. There would always be another box, another errand, another quiet job that kept everything else running.
Mission without a Moderator
Shinda received the assignment as a clerk at the intake desk slid a clipboard across the counter and nodded toward a single reinforced box resting against the wall. It was sealed with red tape, the department stamp pressed neatly into the lid: Patient Intake. Dates were written in careful ink along the side. For him this had become almost routine work, something he had learned was also necessary work. “Medical Records, lower wing,” the clerk said, Shinda gave a short nod and turned away.
The hallways near intake were busy, voices overlapping as patients were checked in and nurses moved past him going back and forth. Shinda adjusted his grip to keep the box steady, holding it close to his chest so the contents wouldn’t shift. He walked at an even pace, sidestepping traffic with minimal effort. As he moved deeper into the complex, the noise faded from the bustle of the general hallways. The smell of antiseptic softened into dust and old paper as this part of the hospital felt removed from urgency. Here, there were very few people, only records preserved and waiting for if someone would need to retrieve old documentation.
The filing office sat behind a reinforced door marked with faded lettering. He would carry the box to the archivist inside, who checked the seal to ensure that it had not been tampered with. “Patient Intake,” the archivist confirmed, Shinda immediately nodding in confirmation. Shinda watched as the box was placed onto a waiting cart, carefully with others from different departments. His gaze moved between the various boxes, personally thinking of just how many people had come through this place for treatment. How many had relatively sensitive information just stored here? His head would shake slightly, dismissing the wayward thought before turning to leave after watching the archivist walk with the cart, his form disappearing into a maze of shelves.
With the task complete, Shinda didn’t linger around as he had other tasks to perform. There would always be another box, another errand, another quiet job that kept everything else running.
Mission without a Moderator
- E-Rank: 5000 Yen
- E-Rank: 250 Words