"For far too long, this world has suffered from the effects of Specials. There is a near infinite number of diseases in this world, but none match the true devastation that Specials have caused. I've lived my life curing those who I pity, trying to make up for the mistakes I've made up to now. No one can be happy in this world. I am able to remedy that."

“In other words… you’re a nutcase?” A man with a thick, unplaceable accent reclines in the booth opposite to darkly clothed, masked man, and he scowls as he notes his empty mug of beer. “Listen, I don't know what made you sit there and start talkin' like I'm your therapist, but I don't got no disease that needs curin'. Hell, I don't even know what my Special is, so even if Specials were some kinda disease - which they ain't - I don't get it.”

“Perhaps you failed to understand me,” Cure responds calmly, his gloved fingers intertwined together below his chin. His gleaming dark gray mask reflects the light of the bulb overhead in a strange way, almost seeming to bend it against the curve. “I’m a doctor. I help the helpless, including those far too common patients who are unaware of their own disease.”

“Eh? Is that so?” The man chuckles once, harshly. “Buzz off, dumbass. I don’t care, I’m not the one who invited your ominous-lookin’ self into my own personal self-help session.”

Behind the mask, Cure looks down at the still empty mug of beer. The man turns to the side, loudly flagging down a waitress. She comes around with a sigh, picking up the mug and wordlessly taking it away, giving a slight shake of her head in barely hidden disappointment as she turns her back. Returning a few moments later, she sets the mug back down, now filled to the brim with an opaque liquid.

"See this?" he asks, pointing down at the mug. "This is my medicine, prescribed to me by someone I like to call me. It's worked just fine for me 'till now, and I don't need nothin' else."

"What if you didn't need your... medicine," Cure answers, his distaste for the liquid clear in his pronunciation. "I can cure any ailment. Any malaise. I can make you feel the way you did when you were happiest - when you were free from the shackles of the second worst disease this world has."

"A'ight." The man sighs, and then takes a long drink out of his mug. Cure waits for him to finish, and after a few moments, the man roughly sets the mug back on the table with a smirk. "I'll humor ya. Tell me, what is this second worst disease, behind Specials?"

"Expectation."

The man is silent for a moment, his smirk fading. "Expectation, huh..." he mutters, resting an elbow on the table so that he can place his chin in his hand. "You might be right about that one, nutcase. People expect the world outta you, even when you've already given everything ya got."

"It wasn't always this way," Cure says quietly with a subtle nod. "No one expected anything from each other, and no one took anything for granted. Kindness wasn't a given, but when it was received, it made you so happy. And that happiness was never tainted, not even when they stabbed you in the back the next day."

The man laughs, with more humor in it than hatred. "You really are a nut, aren't ya?" he says after a few moments, smiling. "Was soundin' like paradise until that last part. Tell me kid, what's your name?"

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Beneath his mask, Cure smiles. "I go by many names, but you can call me Jack," he replies. Unclasping his hands, he leans back into the booth. "I haven't been called that one in a long time."

"A'ight then, Jack the nut. Got a nice ring to it, eh? The name's Phillip, personally, but go on and call me Phil." The man seems to be in a noticeably better mood than he was before as he takes another drink, before sighing in satisfaction. "But, I gotta be honest, you've piqued my interest. Tell me about this world you think you lived in, Jack. Don't get the chance to be in the head of a person like you too often, eh?"

"I suppose not," Cure says with a small chuckle. He's quiet for a moment, reminiscing, and then begins speaking. "Many didn't like the world we were in, and I was included in that. Impermanence is such a hated thing. Humans desire stability, all of them, regardless of whether or not you're at the top or at the bottom. All want happiness in being content. In not worrying about having a meal on the table the next day. When that sense of stability is wrenched away, humans aren't happy."

"Keep sayin' 'humans' like that and eventually I'll think you aren't one, Jack." Phil's voice is gruff, and after he finishes talking, he clears his throat wetly. "But, you tellin' me you're gonna 'cure' me by takin' away my... what was it? Stability?"

"That's not it," Cure says, shaking his head slightly. "What if tomorrow, instead of here, you were at the top, Phillip?"

"I'm-... excuse me?" Phil replies incredulously, that same smirk from earlier returning to his face. "If I was on top? If that was the case, then I suppose everyone below me would be fucked, eh?"

"No, no," Cure says, laughing slightly. "Really, imagine that every morning you wake up, you're someone else. You're someone new. You have a fresh start, in someone else's life. But you're still you."

"Gotta be honest, Jack," Phil grunts, "havin' a hard time imaginin' that one."

"You don't have to.  Someday, I intend to show you."

Phil, seemingly no longer interested in the conversation, lets out a sardonic chuckle before flagging down the waitress once more. "Sure ya do, kid. Anyway, it was nice meetin' ya, but could ya let me have my evenin' back?"

"Of course," Cure answers, smiling beneath his mask. "But before I go, would you like to try some of my cure? You'll be helping others as well, I can assure you."

Phil doesn't answer until his mug has been taken, at which point he sighs and turns back to Cure. "You know what? Fuck it, I'll have a go. Is it some kinda multi-level marketing pill or somethin'?"

Cure laughs. "Nothing so convoluted, I assure you," he reassures him. Raising a hand, he slips off a glove, revealing his almost sickly pale hand. He reaches out across the table. "Simply shake my hand, and you'll have a taste of the cure."

"This feels so fucked up, man," Phil mutters to himself, reaching across the table in turn. Before he touches Cure's hand, he pauses. "You don't got one of those freaky Specials that turns me to dust or somethin' when we touch, do ya?"

"I do not."

"A'ight, that's all I need to hear," Phil says with a light smile as he takes Cure's hand, and shakes it. "When's this cure supposed to... kick in..."

In the middle of his sentence, the life seems to fade from his eyes. His smile recedes, and he takes his hand back. When he speaks, there's no emotion in his voice.

"You took everything." The man who used to be Phil sits motionless, his eyes glassy. A single tear runs down his cheek, but he doesn't acknowledge it. 

Sighing, Cure turns to get out of the booth. Phil's eyes don't track him, seemingly staring at nothing. As Cure's feet touch the wood floors, and he straightens out, he slips his glove back on.

"I took nothing from you, Phillip," Cure says, disappointment lacing his tone. "You had a disease, and I cured it. You're free from expectation."

Phil doesn't react or respond, his eyes remaining unblinking.

A shame, Cure thinks to himself as he starts walking to the door to the bar. Who would've known that Specials are linked to personality as well.