You tell them that you're here for Anjy Miles, who was reported as missing by the police, and followed a lead which pointed to her being here.

They close their eyes and give you a gentle smile. "I am who you seek. I'm surprised you went all the way here for me."

They crouch down and look for something in a plastic bag, handing a croissant to one of the bubbled creatures. "There is something I seek. Care to take a guess?"

They giggle. "I've lost my mind all those years ago. Professions or service, I tell you, it's not for everyone. People thought it stupid that a nurse decided one day that they wanted to be a doctor." They take a slice of pie from their plastic bag and feed it to another one of the minions.

"These creatures, even if they can't pay me back in any way, are far less painful to care for. They won't berate me for doing a poor job or having mood swings. They don't care if I have cancer or not. They're not like those judgemental patients of mine. That's why I sometimes wish I were a Feli."

"Love? In this barren land?" Their sneer turns into a pout. "You’ve got to be kidding me!"

"I do love these creatures. I consider them kin." They carry a bubble containing a minion in their arms as though it were an infant, before holding it close to their chest. "That is about the only love I need. The one time I loved someone in the way many yearn to love, many things tried to tear us apart - clashing ideals, frequent disagreements, and eventually, the realisation that he is my stepbrother." They hang their head.

"I've given up hope in loving anyone else. I feel like I'm committing a grave offence merely thanking him for saving my life." Tears start to fall down their cheek, some of them making their way to the dry ground.

"I have accepted that it was wrong to love him the way I did, but there is one thing I cannot stand living without."

They wipe their tears with their hand and look into your eyes, their aquamarine eyes peering into your soul. "What do you think it is?"

They bow their head, a smile growing on their face, giving the impression of their skin glowing. "Justice. That word sounds beautiful."

They take one of the capsules containing a minion in their head, and lift it up in the air. "Justice is freeing these minions after years of entrapment in these cages." They rapidly swing the bubble downward, stopping a few centimetres shy of the ground. "But wouldn't it do more harm to these blameless creatures to shatter their prisons just to release them?" They carefully set the bubble by their knees, sending it rolling a short distance away from them.

"Justice can hurt the victim even more than the suspect. Some people say that capital punishment is proportionate reparation for a murderer who took many lives, while others say that life imprisonment without parole is a harsher punishment than giving the killer the easy way out." They look at you intently, with glassy eyes. "But what is the value of a life? Is it something we can ascribe a price to?"

They set their eyes to a distant sight. "There it is. But are we really the arbiters for what is fair and what isn't?"

They insert one hand in their bag of minion nip, and feed it to another bubbled minion. "Isn't it fascinating how we think that hurting the people who have wronged us or a loved one can give us happiness or some perverted sense of justice? Though not by my hands, vengeance is mine, now."

They set their eyes to a distant sight. "Vengeance does not replace what has been lost. It never does."

"You really want to know? I was on trastuzumab and paclitaxel. Now I'm on tamoxifen because I have yet another mass!" They seem to be irritated. You take out your phone so you can look those drugs up online, just to find that your phone has no signal reception.

"But no," they continue, "if that were all I needed, I wouldn't have to go all the way here."

"I used to love what I was doing. It brought me joy to see the smiles on their faces. I don’t know what changed. Was it that people were more reliant on the internet that they'd disregard the advise of trained professionals who saw signs that they couldn't feel? Was it that the competition became cut-throat?"

They take a doughnut from their plastic bag of minion treats, a pout forming on their face when the minion refuses their offer. "Going into residency almost ruined my life. Someone I considered a friend wanted revenge in the worst possible way, by locking me up in a warehouse and subjecting me to various forms of torture. All because I was chosen for residency instead of him."

You notice that they're avoiding the topic of their patients altogether, and remind them about it.

"Oh, the patients. They started imposing what doctors can and cannot do, so they kept chiding me for my personal life. Should it really matter that I have side gigs? Dare I say, a life outside of work? I love cosplay, and so do the children, but I've been called crazy, childish, inept, very harsh words. When I started to campaign for Lower Ziaran rights, it made me even less popular with the patients. I was forced to leave my residency, so now I do radio shows and singing gigs. People think I'm happy doing all these, but I just feel so lonely."

They pick up one of the bubbled minions and hold it in their arms. "I'm just like one of these creatures. Trapped in a glass cage, where everyone can see what I do. A spectacle for people's eyes. I was training to be a psychiatrist, but I think I'm the one who needs help. These didn't bother me until she killed him."

"My stepbrother died. Well, he already almost died when Wayne beat him up instead of me, but Aria, that bastard." They clench their fists and close their eyes, their forehead wrinkling. "She killed so many people. For what, you ask? All because she doesn't want that robot of hers to fall into Blackmoon or E's hands."

Wait a second… E? The organiser of the festival?

"I was supposed to perform in the festival at Pina Park, but I begged to this person called The Chronicler… to stop time in Pina Park, while I took investigations on my own hands." They look at the rubble they're squatting on. "He refused me, saying that he doesn't want to interfere in the natural course of history. I-I really need to seek help. Anyway, there was no trace of her in Lower Ziara. In the Upper City. Everywhere! Apparently some people saw her in Centropolis and in Pina Park, but that couldn't be. I knew something no one else did." Their eyes light up, as though delighted. "Aria, when she was alive, used to visit the Wastelands frequently. What for? Who knows."

"Speaking of which," they giggle, "I have something to show you."

They appear to take your suggestion into consideration, just to shake their head. "What are people going to think of me? A shrink seeing a shrink? I know of cases like that, but then no one will trust me anymore if word comes out."

You reassure them that it won't take their credibility away if they seek help from a fellow psychiatrist, and that nobody has any business to dig that kind of information about them.

"It's just, people always manage to find out about my personal life in one way or another. That might be why cosplay appeals to me so much." They cover their smile with their hands. "I can be someone I'm not, if only for a while." They rock their upper body back and forth, then look up at you. "Thank you for talking to me. It means a lot."

"There's something I want to show you.", they say after a brief pause.

You follow Miley as they walk through the clusters of trapped minions in front of you. In the drab, rocky, and rough landscape of the Wastelands, you see a boulder with a flattened surface, with what appear to colourful clothes on it.

Cautiously, you approach the disorganised pile of clothes and find them worn on someone. Detached locks of long, flowy hair dyed in a periwinkle to pink ombre lay beside her head. A slightly fetid odour fills the dry air around you. Still and motionless, even as you draw closer, you notice her arms covered by a sheer blue jacket, and greenish-brown hands clasped together.

"Go on. You can go closer, if you can handle it.", says Miley as they gently pat both of your shoulders.

You walk even closer to the body, taking care not to touch any part of the boulder, and notice that the skin of her face is flushed to her bones, as though neither muscle nor fat intervene between them. It is mottled in appearance, with dark, purplish circles underneath her hollow, sunken eyes. Underneath the sleeves of her jacket, her arms are shrivelled, its moisture sucked out into the dry air. The dress covering her torso drapes downward through her abdomen, which has caved in. Her legs appear to be intact, if only because they are covered by tights.