Lodencia Vaye

After crossing over to the other side of the corridor on a rickety metal bridge made from several salvaged grates welded together, Vaster found a side passage filled with more niches and a door that simply read: “CLINIC.” After knocking several times and waiting around for an answer that never came, Vaster tried turning the doorknob. The door eased open and the sweet stench of ether punched through Vaster’s makeshift facemask.

The waiting room, which was just a pendulum floor clock and three mismatched metal chairs lined up against a wall, was empty. Across from the chairs was a row of metal doors, identical except for the names engraved on brass plaques screwed into the doors just below eye level. Vaster knocked on the door marked “VAYE” and pulled a counterfeit cigarette from the pack in his duster pocket. The cigarette barely touched his lips when the door swung open.

A woman stood in the doorway in front of Vaster. She wore a floor-length waxed black linen coat of unknown origin that was closed by a row of buttons down the left side of her body. Her black hair with streaks of gray was pulled back and held in place by a scuffed and peeling black enameled steel headband by an unknown manufacturer. She wore gunmetal Alcore glasses with small lenses that dangled from her face, barely supported by her nose.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Vaster smiled. “Are you Doctor Vaye?”

“Are you here about medical licensing or certification?”

“No.”

“Do you have any connection with the Gathering?”

Vaster shook his head. “Never heard of it,” he lied.

“Then yes, I’m Doctor Vaye.”