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(As research into Feruchemical technology continues to advance post-BoM, a scene such as this becomes inevitable...) "I'm Ruined," Chloe thought as she heard the approaching sirens. It was an odd thing to have running through your head as you lay in agony on the ground, bleeding out. She really hated herself at that moment. Worst of all was that it was all her own rusting fault! She'd been too engrossed in the music playing in her headphones to look before she stepped out into the street, directly into the path of an oncoming truck. The horrified driver had immediately slammed on his brakes, but too slowly to keep his vehicle from running her down and mangling her body. Now here she was, dying. You'd think that would be bad enough, but that driver apparently had one of those fancy new car phones, and he quickly called in an emergency. They'd responded immediately, and now, as she heard the distinctive two-tone siren getting closer, she wanted to rage at him. Doesn't he know what he's done to me? But of course he didn't. He thought he was helping her. The ambulance pulled up and a pair of EMTs piled out, cementing today as the worst day of Chloe's life. "Please," she whispered weakly as the uniformed man in the lead approached. "Just let me die. Please let me die." * * * "She's delirious," Ron said to his partner, Sandy. "Muttering something I can't make out." "That's good," Sandy responded, her voice flat, all business. "Means she's still alive. As long as she's hanging on at all, we can still help her." He knelt down and pressed a finger to the side of the victim's neck. "Pulse is thready. She's fading," he said in concern. Sandy nodded. Retrieving a plastic case from the back of the ambulance, she opened it and drew out a metal disc. She pulled on a pair of insulated rubber gloves, then pressed the disc firmly against the victim's skin. "Clear!" The woman seemed to squirm away from the metal's touch, but her body knew what to do. Gold ringed by nicrosil, it offered a person in this woman's condition her only chance at survival, and the victim instinctively drew upon it, even as she slid into unconsciousness. Sandy finally let herself smile as she watched the flesh knit together, the mangled bones straightening of their own accord. It was always good when they saved one. As they loaded her onto a gurney and into the back of the ambulance, Ron took the disc and inserted it into the Meter. The ettmetal-powered contraption took stock of the Investiture level within the gold, and he let out a low whistle. "Poor girl," he said. "17%. She drained nearly all of it!" He shook his head slowly. "Survivor preserve the poor fool. She's going to be in the hospital for a long time." * * * Chloe awoke several hours later, feeling dizzy, disoriented, and hungry. She was in a bed, in an unfamiliar room. Rusts! A thrill of panic surged through her as she realized where she was. And just as if to confirm it, a nurse walked through the door, holding a clipboard. "Ah, you're awake." Chloe fought back tears of despair. Rusting EMTs! Should have just let me die! Some people thought Elendel General was a wonderful place that saved people by the hundreds, by the thousands even. But she knew better. After what they had done to her cousin Jean... She was Ruined. The nurse looked down at her insistently. "You seem to be healthy," she said. "We just have a bit of paperwork to work out, before we can get your case properly resolved. Your identification in your wallet gives your name as Chloe Anourielle, address 326 Wayne Street, Eighth Octant. Is this correct?" "Rust off," she spat. "I know what you're here for." "I'm here," the woman said, with a tone of forced patience, "because we saved your life after you made a valiant effort to throw it away. Our EMTs report that your condition was consistent with the story that the driver reported, that you stepped out directly in front of him, well away from any crosswalks, thus placing you at fault. According to the card in your wallet, you are insured by Blue Spear. They have already been contacted and, based on this information, have preemptively denied your claim upon medical insurance. "Your healing drained eighty-three percent of a standard emergency goldmind. By the Gold Standard Act of '39, you owe this hospital eight thousand, three hundred notes. You have the right to instead choose to repay in kind." Eighty-three hundred! Where was she going to get that kind of money? But the alternative... I can't! I can't end up like Jean, a rusting slave to this hospital! Those who couldn't pay in money, paid in kind. Locked away in the Debtors' Ward, they were forced to wear a gold metalmind day in and day out, until they had replaced the amount of health that they had stored. It was a horrible thing to do to a person. The more quickly she filled it, the more sick she would become, and of course tapping it for health would only nullify the progress she had made, according to the cold, tyrannical mathematics underlying the principles of Feruchemy. But if she filled it slowly, to preserve her health, she would remain in the care of the hospital for that much longer, her bill mounting astronomically. The bill, of course, was an expense that could be paid in money, or in health. People who had been injured badly, like her cousin, often remained hospitalized until the strain of filling that goldmind day in and day out wore them away to nothing, until their weakened bodies simply gave out. And now it was happening to her. May Harmony preserve me! she thought. She was going to be sent to the Debtors' Ward.