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You tell Oberheim everything you can, so long as that information does not compromise the bunker. You describe the location of the Voss village, the nature of the attack as Blayz described it, the nearby craters that you saw from the mountaintop and more. You even let him know that you surrendered the village to the Leperos drones after the attack, though you refuse to share the current location of your tribe.
“I am grateful for your cooperation,” Oberheim says while he looks over the notes that he has taken, “even if the information you have shared is cause for alarm. I don't believe that the enemy has ever come this close to the Passage South before. I will have to write a full report on this subject, though I will need to name my source if it is to be taken seriously.”
You share the name that you stole – Phanuhl. The doctors jots down a few more notes, just in time for the guard to return with the medicine. He carries a plastic bag containing four tiny metal canisters and four inhalers, the sort used to treat respiratory conditions. Oberheim teaches you how they should be used and according to him, four daily doses over the course of two weeks should be enough to combat a minor Sepsis infection. You hand over the drafts, he hands over the medicine and just like that, the transaction is complete.
“You have my condolences and best wishes, Phanuhl. I do hope that your tribe is able to recover from this setback.” The doctor gives you a thin-lipped smile as you stand. He's not a particularly warm individual, but his concern seems genuine enough.
“As do I,” you grunt as you push yourself to your feet. “Look after yourself, Oberheim. There ain't many good men left in the world these days.” With that farewell, you turn away and return to your cohort.
Your tribesmen look awfully out of place, perching on metal chairs and anxiously staring at all of the masked Spitalians marching past the pavilion and going about their business. Jurvaz looks more curious than uncomfortable, but even he is out of place in this peculiar environment. All of them are relieved when you finally return, especially when you tell that you have what they came for. With your business concluded, you prepare to set out...
… Only to be intercepted by the elderly woman in red that you saw earlier. You have to stumble to a halt in order to avoid bumping into the crone. Her scarlet robes are far more colourful than anything that the Spitalians wear and she is flanked by a pair of warriors, with scarlet capes draped over their armour and hunting rifles slung over their shoulders.
“You are not like the rest of your men.” That is how she greets you. Her wrinkled face is split by a crooked yet wry smile and there's something sharp about her steely grey eyes.
