So you've all been selected to be doctors for the Foundation. Heads of your fields and all of that. Well, I'm here to tell you that none of that matters. Here, you're just one of the rest. We have on staff over nine hundred and seventy four doctors among the eight primary sites alone. Why so many? They're necessary. The Foundation racks up a body count like it's going out of style, and it's your job to get that number as close to zero as you can, while not getting yourself wiped off this rock.
My name? Doctor Christopher Zartion, MD. Yes, I know you've all got your MDs, and probably a few PhD's. You're all world renowned surgeons and pathologists et cetera. I don't care, and neither do your superiors. You're here to do a job, and to be honest, it's going to suck.
The good news: The forefront of medicine? It's here. Right here. This is the place where you'll work on superviruses, strains of staphylococcus that would make your head explode, and viruses and bacteria which you'd never heard of before. We work with technologies and methods of treatment that are deemed too dangerous, and too experimental. If you think you can't handle that, I suggest you leave now.
What? Hey— What are you doing?! Sit back down. That was a joke. This isn't voluntary.
What you'll see here is going to make or break you, in some cases quite literally. Now I know you're probably wondering what I'm getting at, but I can't tell you. If I told you, in some cases, you'd risk exposure right there. I've been working here for less than five years, and I've seen pathologies that would make you shudder to think of it happening to you, or even any other human being.
That being said, it's going to be your job to log all of what you see, so that it doesn't happen to your teams, and your friends in the containment division. Believe me, they'll be your friends. You'll certainly have to patch them up enough. Yes, Doctor? Of course you're expected to keep accurate records. See this? This is a standard case file for a D-class that the research staff were exposing to one type of virus. You'll notice it's over eighty pages long. That's from one experiment. We perform hundreds in a given month. It should be noted that paper copies are only kept for experiments that are deemed too vital to be left to electronic storage. So you write up this extremely meticulous log, and you might be given a one line mention about the results in a distilled format on the database. Sucks, but it's what happens. It's your job, and you don't get to call out.
The D-class. You're going to feel bad for the D-class, you really are. They're all terrible people, but they're still people. You'll patch up the spine snappings, and the lacerations of the throat. You'll remove rock candy from mucus membranes, and send them back to have it done to them again. This is horrifying, yes? No, it's your job now. The Foundation runs on, whether we like it to or not, and we are the ones who keep it on its feet. Not the researchers, not even the containment staff. We do. Without us, everything would go to hell around here.
We have, in containment, right now, several viruses that if unleashed on the world, wouldn't be an epidemic situation. It would be pandemic, guaranteed. I'm sure some of the pathologists here would be assigned to researching them, and developing countermeasures. Of course it goes without saying that all those procedures you learned back in medschool about cleanliness and disinfecting go double while you're here. Hell, some of those won't work either, so you'll have to follow the containment procedures for the specific object you're working with.
The best case scenario for you who will be working in actual medical? Severe lacerations, or bullet wounds. Hopefully it's only physical trauma. God help you if something infectious gets in to your lab. Some of you might even be assigned to site resident shifts, and get it easy. Keep in mind researchers aren't as scrupulous about disinfecting after experiments as we are. You'd be amazed what passes under your microscope.
Maybe if you get a little less lucky, you'll deal with someone whose arm spontaneously exploded. Then you'll have to report what exactly the patient is going through, secondary symptoms, etc. If you're assigned in a research capacity rather than called in to treat the injury, your first job is to report anything that is off, or anomalous about the trauma. That's your job now, the patient comes second. If you're kind of lucky, you'll deal with someone whose blood is boiling out of his eyes as you speak to him. These are standard cases, of known SCP's. These aren't fabrications to scare you.
What if you're not lucky? You become the patient, doctor. Something gets out, gets inside of you, and we study you.
Let me give you two major pieces of advice.
One, we're here to treat, to heal, and to do as we're told. Sometimes, that might involve breaking the Hippocratic oath.
Oh sit down, I know, first do no harm. This, however, is the Foundation. If anything gets out, it's more than the patient who will suffer. Remember, we're responsible for the lives of countless thousands. If one has to suffer for it, they will. Besides, if you don't do as you're told, you'll probably end up in front of an inquiry.
Two, if the patient is violent, or carrying something; don't try to contain it yourself. Call a containment team immediately. Don't risk your own life. We have precious few doctors now, and believe it or not, training a doctor takes more resources than the Foundation is generally willing to expend without a damn good reason. For those of you who thought joining the Foundation turned you into Doctor House, or James Bond, think again. You're here to do a job, keep that in mind at all times.
For those of you who work outside of medical, assisting in the field, keep your heads down. Yeah, you with the Bill Nye bowtie. Of course you'll be in danger. You could get shot at, exposed to a memetic hazard, anything. The idea is to keep your head down, follow the instructions of the field agents, and try to come back in one piece.
Yeah, you with the— Is that a top hat? Why in the hell are you wearing a top hat? Go see Doctor Bright about staff dress code. Office 37-C, level 4. What? I don't know, he's just as weirded out by that stupid list as everyone else. You're all dismissed, try not to get yourselves maimed on your first week. I don't want to see any of you in the medical bay.