One of the first things that the Religious Rehabilitation Guide spoke about was how to identify a cult or otherwise deadly religion. Exchanging things like power of knowledge for monetary gain or services were some of the most easily noticeable signs of such a group.
Stable religions, or in other words those without financial or population issues, did not need to coerce others by definition and were safer as they were less desperate.
The second most obvious sign was cursed objects, or rather objects which specifically compelled the user into performing actions to benefit the cult’s founders. This included literature which forced the user to read, copy, or attempt to spread the cursed object to others.
Mark noted that he was in fact compelled to read the guide he had just been given, and that he was highly recommended to spread the information he had been given. As such the hospital he was in, which had distributed this literature, was most definitely a cult.
“Making you read up on the subject is not compulsion. And we aren’t a cult just because you have to do something you don’t enjoy.” The nurse replied.
Mark growled, “You are compelling me to do this, which makes it a cult.”
“No it doesn’t.” They said in the same monotone annoyed voice.
Avoiding the use of his burning shoulder Mark pushed the covers off his body and rolled to the side, before standing a bit too fast and needing to stabilize himself with a hand.
The nurses here were cruel, beyond malicious. He had been suffering daily from their decisions.
Mark asked, “Isn’t this a hospital? Why does my shit hurt so fucking much?”
The nurse smiled, they were a large, muscular and balding orc with an apron and all white clothing.
“Would you put pressure on your injuries if the pain didn’t tell you not to?” He asked.
“Fuck no.”
“Cursing a lot now?” The orc smiled showing their broad facial features. “I think maybe you would use that shoulder without realizing it.”
“Eat shit and die.” Mark huffed.
He was running out of breath just to walk to the bathroom. One of his lungs was damaged, and his shoulder cuff had been torn alongside the obvious hole in his pectoralis muscles.
“Don’t worry, you are almost there.” The orc said in a deep yet clearly upbeat voice.
Mark closed the door behind him, infuriated. As his injury healed, they removed more and more of the magical protections which kept him functional, and it was wearing on him.
There were two main types of healing, temporary healing and indelible healing.
He had read up on this throughout the procedures, they had explained it to him just as they had explained how badly it was going to suck in no uncertain terms.
For most injuries you could simply [heal] it using a spell or some type of item. That was a type of indelible healing, which was permanent, easily applied and painless.
“...And so basically if they were nice they would just fix you but they won’t because they want to see you suffer.” Mark said to himself.
“We won’t because of all the curses on you and also the parasites you were infected with Mark. You know this, I explained it to you days ago.” The nurse said through the door in an annoyed monotone.
“Because you need to use temporary healing, which are things like [fortify constitution] or bandages or regenerative tonics or pain medications, which you aren’t fucking doing you jackass.”
He sat down, panting heavily, and put his face in his hands for a moment.
Intellectually he could understand it. Pain killers were addictive because they blocked negative signals to the brain which made them feel amazing. Fortifying your constitution or regenerative ability would lower your natural constitution in the same way fortifying your strength for extended periods would lead to muscular atrophy.
So, objectively he could probably understand that in a few weeks or months he would be happy they started weaning him off early.
“Fuck you! You hear that! Give me my fucking morphine!”
“It's not morphine Mark and you have already been given your daily dosage.”
“Oh but if I was seven feet tall and scaly then I would get all the magical enchantments I want right? Because instead of atrophying over time your body just absorbs and emulates enchantments naturally if you're a seven foot tall scaly girl right?”
“We both know that isn’t why its because-”
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“I know, shut up.”
“Her body is innately magical, that’s why she can pick up a car.”
“I said I know.” Mark snapped.
“Don’t be mean to Zirrilit just because you got shot Mark, you will hurt her feelings.”
“I wasn’t gonna.”
Zirrilit knocked on the front door to Mark’s room with her naturally magical claw, created in the image of a dragon, a body designed to survive and adapt to any surroundings and strengthen from ambient magic in the area and get [Enhanced Constitution] applied to her whenever she wanted and-
“Mark I can hear you cursing under your breath through the door. I'm not joking, she’s really excited about the magical training. Don’t make your bad day everyone else’s problem.”
“I said I’m not going to.” Mark growled.
Zirrilit knocked again and the nurse sighed before opening the door.
“Mark! I just finished the running for no reason training! I am the best at treadmills!”
Mark sat quietly, pretending like he wasn’t functioning with only a single lung and some change. If all went well he should be better by the end of the week and get discharged in a month or two.
He heard her stomp into the main room from the doorway. “Mark! Wait- Did you disappear? Where did you- Oh. I can wait.”
Mark washed his hands and stepped out to have Zirrilit hone in on him and repeat everything she just said, albeit even louder than the first time.
“Yeah, yeah that sounds amazing.” Mark tried to sound excited for her. “How much did you run?”
“All of it!” Zirrilit nodded.
Mark had to pause and wonder whether she was joking or whether he was missing context.
The nurse filled him in on his unspoken question, “They want you to run at a certain speed, for a certain amount of time. Usually they will tell you to run until you can’t but there is a chime for when the exercise will stop having the intended effect.”
“Thanks.” Mark grumbled. “Yeah. That’s cool.”
Zirrilit tilted her head, “Are you angry?”
“No.” Mark muttered.
“Did something happen to you?”
“I got shot.”
Zirrilit tilted her head in the opposite direction before coming to a conclusion. “Ohhhh. It's your first time being ripped open. You know, the first time someone disemboweled me I bit part of my dad’s face off.”
“Also he’s going through withdrawals now,” The nurse added. “And everyone’s always a dick when they start going through withdrawals.”
“I am not.”
“Okay.” Zirrilit said.
Mark stared at the two of them until Zirrilit felt self conscious and started speaking again.
“You know, part of the rehabilitation is training for people they believe to be targeted or otherwise at risk.” she waggled closer, “You could learn healing magic too! Or lightning magic and just lightning everyone all the time! Then you would get shot less.”
Mark crawled back onto his bed, face down on top of the covers and just moaned.
“They are going to make me run. And then when I realize I hate running, they will probably think of something worse.”
“Yup.” The nurse agreed. “Generally, the focus is cardio and then whatever muscle group you seem to be the weakest at. Which usually correlates with whatever you want to do the least.”
Mark sighed; the original researchers didn’t want to artificially strengthen him, they wanted to find out what he was naturally strong at.
This group evidently just wanted him powerful in general, and he wondered if this was for his own benefit or for theirs.
His shovel still laid at the foot of his bed, coated in congealed blood that refused to be cleaned off. Mark had been featured in a segment of the news which was labeled something along the lines of ‘new species strong against previously unknown threat.’ Now a large number of people knew about him, possibly across multiple worlds.
Zirrilit didn’t know how to properly bring up their plans for conquest, so she just spoke. “Mark, some of the rehab students wanted to come and join your sect, can you bless them?”
“No.”
“Because you don’t want to or because you-”
“Can’t.”
Mark signed again, pushing a pillow under the good side of his chest to take pressure off of his wounds. The nurse was still in the room watching the exchange, if Mark had ever been even remotely serious about conquering whatever government he belonged to at any point then said government would know about it by now.
Mark decided to try and redirect her, “Can we just maybe focus on not dying for now.”
“That’s what the auxiliaries are for! You send them in first to die so that your important guys don’t!”
He decided to be frank, “Look, I don’t want to conquer anyone and even if I did, why are we talking about this in front of him? Doesn’t he know about the whole plan you were coming up with now?”
Zirrilit drooped slightly, “I thought they were spying on us, and that they would have known about the plan already. Did- Did they not know?”
She looked at the orc who just shrugged.
Mark buried his face in his pillow. He could never tell if she was being dumb or smart.
And for whatever reason she was inclined to try and conquer the world.
“Maybe we should go and get some food?” Zirrilit offered.
He knew she offered that because there were about three recreational activities Mark could participate in right now, watching television in another language while someone else summarized what was happening, eating, and reading some of the sparse translated media he could get his hands on.
Most of the translated literature was legal or health guidelines.
Mark grunted an affirmative and Zirrilit ran to grab his wheelchair before helping him into it.
Something the nurse refused to do for him, citing that he needed at least a small amount of exercise each day. His lungs being mostly functional with the amount of magical aid he possessed.
He grumbled slightly, the staff were all being dicks to him.
The universe itself seemed to casually find methods of causing him suffering.
She wheeled him to the cafeteria through two halls and an elevator, and then she pushed him into line.
On earth you might see a small buffet, perhaps a kind old woman who served you from a variety of different pre-cooked meals from behind a glass display case.
But this wasn’t an Earth hospital. This was a fancy magical one, where the staff could check to see what food is the healthiest for you specifically and then tailor your diet purely based on your nutritional needs.
Mark looked at the large salad with some form of sour dressing alongside mashed starchy vegetables and a small chunk of fish.
The nurse was still following him around, still smiling with those broad features, acting like this was for Mark’s benefit.
If he wasn’t wheelchair bound he would have tried to stab that nurse.
Or maybe not.
Someone else had tried that and was still handcuffed to their own bed.
“Thinking about it objectively,” Mark said through a mouthful of salad, “Hospitals can seize their victims, force them to participate in a number of activities against their will, isolate them from others, modify their subject’s physically and psychologically, and do all of this while preaching about how this is all for ‘the greater good’.”
The orc’s expression subtly shifted back to their prior annoyance, though Mark caught it and doubled down.
“So, Zirrilit, what do you think the difference between a hospital and a cult is?”
Mark dipped his fork into the salad once again as Zirrilit’s expression shifted to one of careful thought.
“They… Are good at healing?” Zirrilit was mulling over the legal definitions of both, enjoying the new game.
Mark laughed, “No, Zirrilit, the main difference is that hospitals work for the government.”
“Politics is more of a cult than hospitals are, Mark.” The orc corrected.
Zirrilit clapped not fully understanding either point but enjoying being part of the discussion.
Mark nodded, “Okay, can I have morphine now?”
“You can have your post meal medications after the meal.”
“I hate you.”
“You and everyone else, human.”