[December 2059] Do no harm (Prelude: Smiley)
Technically, Smiley lived and worked out of an old commercial building: the loading dock, actually. It was the last remaining building on the block that hadn't been taken over by squatters and gangers. The people working the offices weren't all exactly doing legal shit, but it was all stuff that had to happen to keep the barren's economy running. Smiley had no idea why, but the practical effect was that people left his place alone, and somehow by the miracle of miracles, it had power and water.
Smiley wasn't totally 100% awake, and he felt a lack of his morning soykaf and simubeef burrito, but he was used to working in FAR worse conditions than this, and had started as just "the ork with the oversized medkit" as a gangly teenager. Compared to patching someone in the middle of a firefight, working early was easy.
Of course, he'd expected at least a little more than 2 minutes' notice from a cell phone before the car pulled into the building's old loading dock that he'd converted into his hospital. The place had a bunch of little storage cages that were just perfect to make sterile environments, and he had enough room for the oversized but workable antique gear he ran.
He just finished washing his hands and pulling on his face mask when he heard the horn and opened the warehouse door and activated the little hydraulic ramp so they could wheel up the patients. He stepped out into the light, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the run, and looked down at what awaited him below in the parking lot, his brain already ready to start triage.
"Morning! What we got for my chop-shop, chummers?"