Judd
Ship of Theseus
NAR SHADDAA
UNDERGROUND CLINIC
More than anywhere else in the galaxy, Nar Shaddaa was in need of medical professionals. The Smuggler's Moon was nearly synonymous with back-alley stabbings and gang violence, which had only worsened since the Cartel tore it's own heart out, and a power struggle had begun anew. Someone had to put the street toughs back together when they shot each other apart. Hence the medic conclave.
It was a small group of come-and-go healers, no more than five at a time, who'd taken control of an abandoned, rusted warehouse, with a medical cross painted on the doorway in cheap red paint. Inside laid rows of well-lit cots, stained with old colors that wouldn't rub off, separated by drab curtains. Nearly all of them were occupied, with people of all different species and persuasions, warriors that couldn't be seen in the more upstanding hospitals, and workers that couldn't pay the exorbitant fees.
Kneeling next to one of these cots, a massive Dowutin worked diligently on a patient. With needle and forceps, the steady hands of the medic pulled closed a long gash on a woman's brow. After he was finished, Judd stood without a single word, and moved onto the next patient. It was getting to the end of a busy day.
It was a good thing that the conclave had recently picked up a new healer. Thankfully, unlike some of the other freeloaders here, she actually knew what she was doing.