“Dr Frost is possibly the most celebrated medic of our generation. At least among Wastelanders. Why? She came up with a cure for what we now know to be radiation poisoning. I don’t think it can be overstated how big a deal this is. Radiation poisoning, and its comorbidities, were the number one killers in the Wasteland, above raiders, above Monster attacks. Seriously, by now her work has saved tens if not hundreds of thousands of lives. And the most amazing part is she could have made the Wastelanderspay through the nose for it, but she didn’t! She asked only for what they could give! I know that sounds like normal behaviour to expect of medics these days but this was back in the days of UMBA. Back then the laws of Bastion were for poor people. Back then The Network was the State and the Executives its aristocracy. Back then you’d poison someone’s drink just to sell them the antidote.
While remarkable this was far from Dr Frosts’ only achievement. Indeed, she founded the Nectar school of Psychotherapy. The revolutionary psychic monster based therapies pioneered there have resulted in a new era of care for mental health in Bastion and beyond. Her work has helped establish a compassionate, patient focused and effective therapies.
Finally on Dr Frost list of accolades is her work as a Wasteland medic. Together with partner Suture, the two have roamed the Wastelands for the first time bringing affordable healthcare to Human and Monster alike. The two racing across the desert from one medical emergency to another is now a common sight, and the Wastelanders never fail to cheer for the pair they owe so much to.”
- excerpt from Do-Gooders and Cinnamon Rolls of Bastion, by Zephyr
You lean back into the depths of your chair, clipboard in hand. It’s that time of week again. Your most… difficult patient. They recline on a chaise longue facing away from you.
“You know, your Monster mind tricks won’t work on me. You can’t just psychic me better like those other will-less morons.”
You drum your pen against the clipboard, briefly glancing to the small basket you keep Custard in. “Yes, that is one of the reasons your case has proven so difficult. I believe last time we talked about how you treat others. You’ve gotten very good at finding their insecurities. You could actually be very good at my job, if you tried. But you always use it to drive them away. Why do you think that is?”
There’s a derisive snort. “What do you want to hear? Because people hurt me? That I’m bitter and angry and want everyone to hurt as much as I do?”
You look up sadly from your notebook, “Bitter and angry certainly, but I think in your own way, you are actually trying to protect them. I think the thought of hurting people, really hurting them, terrifies you. So you’re mean, and spiteful to drive them away, because you think if they came to care, or worse you came to care for them, it would only end badly. And when you’d only end up hurting worse. That’s what happened to you before, isn’t it?”
There’s a long period of silence, punctuated only by the occasional scratch of your pen on the clipboard.
They respond in a small, timid voice. “Am I wrong?”
You sigh and set the clipboard down. “Your feelings are valid. I’m not here to tell you what is right or wrong. I’m here to help you be well, so that you can do what you think is right. I think you know that you could do better. I think you know you could do a lot of good in the world if you didn’t squander your time in fear and self-pity.”
The timer goes off.
“I’m afraid we’re out of time. I know it is slow, but we are moving forwards. You didn’t wreck my office this time.”
They growl, and their dark form slinks off the chaise longue towards the open window. They pause just before the portal out into the night.
“Same time next week?”
You nod, smiling, “same time next week.”
It’s been a long journey for that one. And they still have a long way to go. You’re making progress though. There was a time when you really didn’t think there was any helping them, but you’re making progress.