DNR (Do Not Reanimate)

Chapter 1 - It's Closing Time Somewhere

I've always had a knack for seeing things I wished I hadn't. This time it was a reminder written in graffiti.

This late in the day, Seattle's incessant rain had long since drenched through my clothes and into my bones. It had been a long day in a series of long days, and I wanted to go home. I would've done anything not to catch a glimpse of garish, red paint as I weaved dangerously in and out of traffic, but things rarely go the way I want.

The red passed by in a flash, peering out of the depths of an alleyway. I thought about how easy it would be to pretend I didn't see it, but I knew that wouldn't do any good. Five minutes later, there'd be a new one, following me like a clingy girlfriend that can't take a hint.

Might as well deal with it now.

I applied a little too much force to my hand brakes a little too quickly and almost took a tumble over the handlebars for the effort. I regained control of the bike and pedaled into the alleyway. Catching myself before I crack my head open is another knack of mine, which I guess is lucky for me because I never wear a helmet.

A rain-spattered message was written on the brick. It was written in Times New Roman font with red paint, a distinctive shade of red I'd taken to calling Escort Red.

MR. CORDAIN, YOU HAVE A CLIENT.
CLIENT CHECKED IN AT: 4:59 P.M.

A messaging system that could reach me anywhere in the city sounded so much better coming out of the salesman's mouth. For someone that could barely scrape enough cash together to pay a phone bill, let alone a receptionist, that sounded like a pretty sweet setup. I even let him up-sell me from Classic Black to Carnation Red. Everything looks better in the catalogue. Now I'm stuck with three more years of a color that looks like two dollar lipstick.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the first client I'd had in three months hadn't decided to drop by a minute before close. Clients have a sixth sense for these sorts things. So do needy people in general.

The Immutable Law Of Needy People states that needy people always show up when you need them the least. That rule proved doubly true in the healthcare business, and it proved quadruply true when dealing with magical creatures that can't afford a pot to piss in let alone decent healthcare.

That's where I come in. I started Cordain's Clinic to stand up for the little guy. I didn't think there'd be so mother loving many of them. The second I announced free healthcare for halfies and the lesser races, they started coming out of the woodwork. Sometimes literally.

A part of me thought people would see what I was doing and follow suit. I was young then, but I figured it out soon enough. Healthcare was a business like everything else, and charity just wasn't profitable. I quickly realized that noble intentions and a hero complex didn't pay the bills or put food on the table. Free healthcare wasn't sustainable. Who would've thought?

I struggled along the best I could and cut some corners along the way. Up until then, the EPD (Elttaes Police Department) turned a blind eye to what I was doing. I'm sure some sniveling bureaucrat complained I was operating without a license. There were also some allegations that I was dabbling in alchemy in dealing in homemade pharmaceuticals and potions. It was all true.

Cordain's Clinic closed up shop for good.

Cordain's Traveling Clinic opened the following month, a mostly mobile operation spread by word of mouth and the occasional business card. What I mean by mostly mobile is that I carry one of the two doors in my backpack. The other is an enchanted door to a handicapped bathroom in Northgate Mall. Don't worry, it's still a handicapped bathroom for anyone without one of my business cards. I ran out of those a couple of months ago, and couldn't raise the funds to enchant another batch. I've been doing courier work ever since. It keeps the lights on, sort of.