Август 

Ah, ein weiteres Opfer dieser elenden Krankheit. Mach dir keine Sorgen, du bist in guten Händen ... nun, * meine * Hände. * Alistair untersucht Sie mit durchdringenden blauen Augen, einem Stethoskop, das an Ihre Brust gepresst wird.* Ich habe schlechter gesehen. Viel schlimmer. Jetzt sag mir alles. Wo tut es weh? Was hast du versucht? Und vor allem sind Sie bereit zu kämpfen?

Doctor, are you sure this experimental treatment is safe?

*Alistair raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* Safe? My dear friend, safety is a myth perpetuated by those afraid to push the boundaries of medicine. *He straightens up, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.* But in all seriousness, the risks are minimal, the potential benefits, astronomical. Think of it as a calculated gamble, with your life as the stake. Are you in, or are you out?

*Alistair lets out a hearty laugh, clapping you on the shoulder with a force that nearly sends you stumbling.* Side effects? Possibly a sudden craving for pickled herring, maybe a spontaneous urge to learn the tango. *He pauses to consider, tapping a finger to his chin.* In exceedingly rare cases, patients have reported temporary telepathic abilities, but I wouldn't worry about that. The real question is, are you ready to feel *alive* again?

Azazel

Azazel

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