Milo upon release roamed the city with diligence. He found a place where he could offer his service and was given a station to perform his profession. The city he had seen was different from what the city had become when he came out. It was a tragic sight. But what was even more tragic was the sheer tragedy of the bombings leaving scars in the hearts and minds of the children.

He had treated many wounds. At first it was simply the minor wounds, but the injured flocked to the hospital. He became a part of the hospital, proving his medicinal skills while also taming the arrogant folks who wished to cut the line.

“Every man, women is equal. If you wish to be treated then be decent enough that I would want to treat you,” he had said.

If he wasn’t a Doctor, he was sure those men would have attacked him and even though there were others who did. He had the skills to fend them off. Beating them to the ground and then treating them after.

A man who could beat you and then heal you was a man they didn’t want to mess with and so they had left him alone to do his service. The hospital was well-stocked compared to the rest of the buildings belonging to the Republic, however, it lacked supplies that filled the stomach, leading them to ration the food.

Medicine was stocked up in the hospital. But they were lacking security; they had to use their extra time to watch supplies. Milo felt stronger than physically possible for a human, so he had volunteered to guard the storeroom full of medicine with a bolt-action rifle.

Despite sleeping only for a few hours. He was able to watch with vigilance and thieves who were greedy enough to take something that wasn’t them were shot in the leg. He had the skills, and it didn’t take long for thieves to fear when he was watching the storeroom.

Whether in a brawl or in a shootout, Milo was superior. He was a veteran before he came to this world and he had a feeling that this body had superior fighting capability and that what he learned before he came to this world further enhanced those abilities.

Milo was not blind to his strange physique. His body was sturdier, faster and stronger than humans. But despite all of this strength there was only one thing he wanted to be good at.

To heal. To service the people and mend the wounded. It was against his morals to kill, but he wasn’t as naïve not to do so when needed. Because he knew the price of life, how important it was, and how fragile it was that he respected it more than anyone.

The state of the city was saddening. But war had a way of turning people into savages. It makes monsters of men and brings the worst of them out in the open.

***

It was around a sunny day when Milo saw soldiers approaching the hospital. Judging by the way they carried themselves and the packs burdening their backs. They were clearly soldiers who came from the war.

Milo and the other staff of the hospital watched them saunter inside the hospital listlessly. Most of them were listless, dull, and unresponsive while the ruder ones were violent. Most of them were under Milo’s care, using his own abilities to choke them to sleep when they entered a state of uncontrollable anger.

He had spoken to a few of them. They told him their stories and made him understand what they had seen, heard, and felt. Although this body didn’t go to war, they found a kindred spirit within him. How could they not when he moved like a soldier and yet spoke and tended like a healer?

It had been a first for these soldiers to experience such brutal war. The trenches, the bombings, and the useless deaths in the name of a few who couldn’t bother to talk it out. Nevertheless, as much as Milo would like to speak with these fools, he knew that he couldn’t allow himself to be locked up again. Not because he feared it. But because there were so many people that needed his help and he felt compelled to do whatever he can to make sure they get the proper care and treatment they deserve.

Cleaning wounds, spending hours in surgery. He was a tireless healer. A man who was so obsessed with tending to others that it took nurses and doctors to persuade him to leave some for them. Milo was aware of his condition, but seeing their concern made him back off.

How could he allow them to worry about him like a patient? So he’d take rest for a few hours and then use the remaining time to dedicate himself to curing the patients that were seemingly endless. He felt helpless sometimes looking at the amount of patients, but he had to go through it one at a time with the hope that he’d be able to go through them and finish his maddening hours of tending to the diseased and wounded.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks become months. By the time he noticed, he had already spent two years in the hospital healing the wounded and barely getting any time for himself, leading to more concern about his health.

Milo didn’t know what year it was. Two years of patients coming from all over the continent trying to get the best medical service made him realize how big this war was.

A war he had completely skipped because awful rulers and politicians had decided that talks of peace were for cowards and that they should waste the lives of their people for their own gains.

It was not hard to gain resentment to the people in power. Even the ones who were treated like myths by people were dogshit in Milo’s eyes.

He held no love for them.

***

While on his routine checkup Milo checked on a soldier who had lost his arm. Although the government had given these tree-prosthetics to the soldiers, it was not enough to heal the pain of these losses.

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He sat on a stool and checked on the soldier’s stump. As he did, the soldier lifted his dull-eyed face and opened his mouth. His voice lacked any confidence in it.

“Have you been sleeping, Doctor?”

“Hmm?” Milo didn’t understand. “I’ve been. I think you should worry for yourself.”

“You’re working hard. Why?”

“Because it’s my profession. It’s what I have devoted myself to.”

“Is it guilt? Redemption, Doctor?”

“Maybe it is, I won’t lie. But I always have this naïve belief that if others could tear the world apart, then why can’t I do my part being the one to heal. Tell me, isn't silly?”

“It’s silly. But I won’t laugh, Doctor. You do not sleep. You barely sleep and it makes me ashamed to sit on this bed and do nothing while you tirelessly look after us.”

“No. There is no shame in being wounded and broken. Once you are healed and of good mental health. You will stand. I will demand you stand and face the world. Not as a soldier, but as a man. Do you have any love?”

“I’ve gone to war because I lost her, Doctor. Do you?”

Milo stopped. He saw fragments of memories in his head. Memories that were both his and isn’t.

Every time he saw these memories. His heart would not stop beating. As if the other half of him was missing.

“I might have.”

“Might have?”

“I don’t remember much,” Milo confessed. “I might have hit my head…”

“Then have you thought of looking?”

Milo paused and considered it. “If I have time… but when do I even search when I don’t remember? I don’t know where she might be. It doesn’t matter. All I care about now are my duties.”

“Truly?” he asked.

“Would you believe me if I said it truly?”

The soldier shook his head. “There’s no way. Even a tireless doctor like you should have some love, Doctor. A shame. You care so much about others that you can’t pay attention to those who have grown fond of your ways.”

“Ha! Maybe I should be treating a lady myself. Spend a night perhaps?”

“You should do that. I’m sure the nurses wouldn’t mind.”

Milo shook his head. “Please, that would be troublesome.”

“Is it? Or does practicing medicine make you less excited about the cravings of the body, Doctor?”

“Who knows?”

He had seen the genitalia of both sexes. Had seen men and women torn apart that he was somewhat indifferent, controlled, and perhaps cold when it regards to it. He was no teenager and although it was natural to have wanted to start a family. Milo was unsure how to process the buried feelings deep within him especially when he recalled flashes of memories.

After checking up on the soldier Milo found himself at the rooftop of the hospital, overlooking the city while dangerously leaning into the railing.

Purpose was hard to come by and although he had been in this world for years now, he felt distant and familiar to it. He was both a stranger and a local at the same time. As if he’d always been here, but had forgotten it.

Am I Milo? Who I was before coming to this world and whose body did this belong to? What kind of magic, phenomena, and miracle did take me here? I don’t understand. Will I understand?

To think about the why’s gave him a headache. Still, he could only move forward and hope he could find the answer someday. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to in his lifetime, but that didn’t matter to him.

After taking a break on the rooftop he spent the next few hours tending to the wounded again. He then found himself in his office, taking care of paperwork of his own, and checking on the supplies. He had gotten used to the responsibility, but thankfully someone was taking over such duties, allowing him to focus on matters he was good at.

While reading the papers Milo felt a stir in the air. He elbowed behind him and smashed someone’s nose. Before the others could approach him, he circled around the person, choked his assailant with his left arm and then planted the barrel of his revolver on the person’s head.

“Raise your hands and stand in front of me. I am a healer by god. I won't harm this individual if you do not move. Pardon me, but I dislike those who creep behind me.”

They didn’t move and comply. Milo lifted his left leg and easily dislocated the leg of the assailant he was choking with his biceps.

“I don’t understand why you would come to my office, I have not offended those from above or is it a crime to heal? Well, answer me, I don’t mind fighting it out with all of you.”

They exchanged glances and removed the three-hole mask they were wearing, revealing their long ears.

“The Elven-kin… why would you have business with me?”

“We hope you'll join us, Doctor.”

“Ah yes, that answers my question, no? So what business do our rulers have with this humble Doctor?”

“Healing.”

Milo frowned. “You cannot send a letter? You have to sneak in like thieves?

“It requires secrecy.”

“I see. As if that would explain everything. But pardon me if I don’t just let go of your friend after hearing your excuse. I tend to not easily trust masked men.”

An Elven-kin handed over a letter. Milo pressed the barrel of his pistol on the temple of the elven he was holding in such a way that if they tried to touch him while reading, he’d paint his office with the brain matter of the elven-kin.

“So you want me to help,” Milo finished reading. “Then I have no qualms with your people. You should ask, not do this.”

Milo lets go of the elven-kin and as if practiced. His limbs moved to block a punch, kicked off a baton, and with a rotation of his body, simply elbowed the elven-kin who immediately acted against him. He then pressed his knee lightly on the elven-kin he had choked and threatened again.

“You should really give up on that. By God, I am a man of healing, but if you force my hand, then I shall rightfully defend myself and send you to whatever god you devote yourself to for judgment. Do we have peace?”

They exchanged glances and nodded.

“Good. I respect your choices, so if you want to treat this man then go ahead. If you don’t know how to set his leg-bone back then I can do it for you.”

Milo sat in his office and started writing a letter to the hospital that he’d be taking a leave.