"Don't feel disillusioned for the drop," The head doctor patted his shoulder, "Your life was at risk. I have no idea of the task Madam has assigned to you, one that would leave you in such a state but, I hope you can persevere."
He then exited the room, taking the door that led into the narrow hallway—one whose walls sported the painting, almost endless in length. The other doctors too trailed after him, giving Jyorta perfunctory words of encouragement. Not one inquired about the reason for his actions or the reason he had ended up in such a state.
It was like they weren't bothered about the reasons, only doing their job meticulously. Upon their exit, except for the green workbench his body rested on, the remaining tools and apparatus in green dissolved into psychic energy, dissipating into the surroundings, their path directed towards the narrow hallway.
