I’ve never liked doctors, and I’ve never liked hanging in places where doctors are around. Sure, I’ve dragged chummers, comrades, perps, and strangers into more emergency rooms than I really care to count, but I’ve always hated the experience. I suppose because some irrational part of me is drek-scared I’m going to catch whatever the other guy’s got—even if he’s not diseased, but shot, cut, broken, or otherwise injured. Frag logic. I can tell myself a hundred times that bullet wounds are not contagious, but I still want to get the frag out into the open air as fast as I can.