Mykel gave a heavy sigh as he pulled the cord to start the generator in the back of his clinic - or atleast what was passing for his clinic these days. The dilapidated old building, nearly caved in on itself, stood amidst a pile of rubble just outside a modest settlement. He tried to keep it as clean as possible both inside and out, but people certainly loved scrawling messages on the outside walls. The inside atleast felt sterile, white lights and shiny surfaces. He had just one operating table, a relic from older times with sweat-stained yellow foam padding poking through the green vinyl cover in some spots. It certainly did well enough for his clientele, though.<br/>With a series of heavy chugs, the generator began powering everything inside and out, lights, machines, and one big neon sign on top of the clinic reading "Dr. Conrad's Clinic - Barter Accepted." Barter. Who ever heard of a doctor taking barter? Mykel went to medical school for nearly ten years, and had been a full doctor even before things got ... This way. During that time, any doctor taking barter would have surely been stripped of his title. Not that there was anyone around to do that these days.<br/>Mykel creaked open the door, hinges squeaking against themselves, nearly immobilized with rust. The inside of the clinic seemed dingy to him; a number of the lights were out and Mykal had no idea where to get more fluorescent tubes. There were also a couple cracks in the concrete that there are no feasible way to fix, who had the machines to mix concrete, let alone had spare bags of the stuff these days? Mykal took his place behind the desk in front of the moth-bitten curtain that offered some semblance of privacy for those being operated on and hung his head, giving another sigh in hopes of paying customers today.