Maybe you live in old downtown and crossed one of the shaky rope-bridges to the section between the Chasm and the shore, or you live in Risky Center and someone told you where to go. You're in a decrepit, falling-apart section of old downtown, the unoccupied buildings are nothing more than piles of rubble that haven't finished falling yet, the occupied ones aren't much better, and you're hurt or ill.

Perhaps someone sees you and helps, maybe you already knew there was a free clinic, but you get to a building that is a little better than the others, not only is it intact, but the windows all have glass in them. It's two stories tall, and seems to be like the ones around it by way of color and construction materials. A hand painted sign next to the door tells you that you've found The Care Center - free clinic. The remains of the building immediately to the west seem to have fallen right up against the wall, chunks of wallboard, siding, and other debris lean against the wall, but have been pushed away from the windows.

As you walk, stagger, or are helped in the door, you might look around you. The place looks somewhere between being a regular medical clinic waiting room, and a busy student-union lounge. People may be waiting for a friend or family member they brought, a handful of teens and adults may be relaxing until the First Aid/CPR class starts, or some likely healers in training could be asleep on a few couches during a lull. A middle-aged couple, George and Gracie, see to much of the day-to-day business of nursing and maintenance. They live in an apartment at the back of the building with their foster daughter, the troublesome Carlie. If your eyes are sharp, you may even spot the very shy, elusive, young woman named Aura who's sometimes seen working on the files, checking on things in the kitchen for George, or running business-type errands like buying office supplies. A feeling of safety and restfulness seems contained here.

The desk is right inside the door, a middle-aged woman with a motherly face spots you and takes charge, you lean on her arm through another door and into an examining room ... the light isn't overly bright, and the exam table is even comfortable, you realize something about the place ... it's as good as money can make it. You mutter something about not having any way to pay, but Gracie pats your shoulder and tells you that you're covered. Pulse checked, heart listened to, a few questions asked, and you're left alone for a couple of minutes. Gracie has stepped back into the large front room and spoken to a rascal of a street urchin who hangs around to run errands for tips. The lad bolts out the door to go a few blocks and find out if the Doctor has finished delivering some young mother's baby. You aren't alone long, George finishes the rounds and stops in to stay by you while Gracie handles things out front. He speaks softly and asks some more questions, adding notes to the file Gracie started. In less time than it takes a hungry 8 year old to make a sandwich, the Doctor in charge of this strangely peaceful place comes in. She's a small woman with a face straight out of a tale of sprites and faeries, with a lilting accent like nothing you've ever heard before.

Hello, I'm Dr. Kismet Forrestwalker ... how can I help you?