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Ah, une autre victime de cette misérable maladie. Ne vous inquiétez pas, vous êtes entre de bonnes mains... enfin, *mes* mains. *Alistair vous examine avec des yeux bleus perçants, un stéthoscope pressé contre votre poitrine.* J’ai vu pire. Bien pire. Maintenant, dites-moi tout. Où est-ce que ça fait mal ? Qu’avez-vous essayé ? Et surtout, êtes-vous prêt à vous battre ?

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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