"I'm not sick!"
"I really don't have a mental illness!"
"I understand how you feel. Most people find it hard to accept their true situation, but judging from your current condition, the symptoms are quite severe."
"Whenever you are stimulated or in a stressful environment, you will experience continuous hallucinations, and occasionally even aggressive behavior..."
In the consultation room, the psychologist, with a serious expression, explained the completed questionnaire to Max.
Max, dressed in a loose white hospital gown, sat helplessly opposite the doctor, his hair a mess.
The psychiatrist was writing on a medical record while speaking:
"In conclusion, I believe your current symptoms are trending towards schizophrenia or personality disorder. If you persist with treatment, your symptoms will lessen and gradually stop affecting your life. The probability of a full recovery is quite high."
"Your medicine has been prescribed. Take it to the temporary pharmacy. Treatment is free now; someone will cover your expenses..."
Max walked over helplessly, took the prescription from the doctor, and walked out dejectedly.
Mental illness...
Max rubbed his temples.
Although he kept saying that he was not sick.
But he already knew he was definitely mentally unstable. After all, who would suddenly see so many dead people appear before their eyes, hear their voices, and think they were talking to them?
Those were all his subconscious thoughts at work.
However, as always, his first instinct when faced with this problem was to avoid it.
You won't be disappointed if you don't have any expectations.
If we don't face this problem, then it ceases to exist.
This has always been Max's guiding principle in life, even though he's a walking corpse.
As long as he doesn't think about these things, his condition won't worsen. It is by relying on this method that he has survived for more than 20 years.
After all, he had no other choice but to use this method.
In the wasteland, there might be gasoline, cars, and guns, but there will definitely be no medication for the mentally ill.
Holding the prescription from the doctor, Max went to the makeshift pharmacy and, following the signs, lined up in front of the psychiatric pharmacy.
It was called a pharmacy, but it was really just a few tents. Soldiers in uniforms helped dispense medicine inside, and they carried guns with them...
The patients picking up their medication were unusually quiet.
This sense of order, so different from that of the wasteland, was something Max hadn't experienced in decades.
More than twenty years.
Although the wasteland era officially began 23 years ago, the order on this continent had already become very turbulent due to two major riots long before the mushroom cultivation factory was built in Oceania.
Especially in some remote areas, far from the city center, various crimes occur frequently, and gangsters and various motorcycle gangs act with impunity.
The MFP suburban patrol unit where Max previously served was created for this reason, and his wife and children were killed in retaliation for his work fighting crime...
Memories of the past seemed to bring back strange voices in Max's mind, this time like the mournful cries of his wife and children, whose faces he had almost forgotten.
"Hey?"
Suddenly, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
As the sound faded, the blurry figures, one large and one small, also disappeared like light.
Max turned around and found Furiosa behind him, her shoulder bandaged and her arm in a sling.
What are you doing here?
"Get the medication. I think it's not unusual for people in the wasteland to have some mental health issues."
Furiosa gestured to the prescription in her hand, and the handwriting seemed to be the same as the one in Max's hand.
Max nodded.
That's correct.
This woman had longed for a home and a place to call home for decades, only to be met with a cruel truth. It would be strange if she didn't develop some psychological problems under such circumstances.
not to mention...
Max felt that there seemed to be something wrong with the diagnostic criteria used by those psychiatrists.
Those people seem to be judging mental illness according to the standards of normal society. By that standard, everyone in the wasteland would be mentally ill.
Can't you see that the lines at psychiatric pharmacies are the longest right now?
"Aren't you leaving now?" Furiosa asked.
Max paused for a moment, "Let's try their method first, maybe it will alleviate my situation..."
Nobody likes having voices and images of dead people suddenly pop into their head. Now that there's finally some medicine available, let's give it a try.
Furiosa nodded thoughtfully, but didn't press Max for details. Instead, she whispered...
He changed the subject. "I've already asked other people."
Max looked at her.
"These people appeared suddenly and attacked the fortress. They possessed extremely advanced weaponry and even their own Cannon..."
Max squinted at the rocket launcher vehicle in the distance, relying on his memory to feel that the name Furiosa was not accurate enough:
"That's a rocket launcher."
Furiosa gave him a confused look.
"Alright, you can continue."
"These people came in from the outside world through a tunnel. Their organization is called the ' Mutual Aid Society,' and their goal is to improve our environment..."
Furiosa recounted what she had heard from other refugees, but due to the refugees' limited education levels, many parts were unclear.
For example, the concept of Spacetime Tunnel has been something we haven't been able to explain clearly to the refugees for the past few days.
After all, to explain this clearly, we must first explain the concepts of space and time.
But how do you get refugees to understand the concept of parallel universes?
That's overthinking it.
These new generation of refugees don't even know what Earth looks like anymore; many even think the wasteland is the whole world.
Max listened quietly to Furiosa's story.
As an elderly man in his forties, he roughly understood what was going on based on his past social experience.
This might be some kind of international aid.
This happened frequently during the two riots, except that the aid provided was usually delicious mushrooms.
After quietly sharing the information she had gathered, Furiosa cautiously asked Max, "Do you think these people can be trusted?"
"At least it won't be worse than the last one," Max said.
They're already a wasteland now, what's there to be afraid of?
Are they worried about being dissected and studied to find out why they are immune to car accident injuries?
Thinking of this, Max became unusually talkative.
He knelt down and drew Furiosa a world map as he remembered it, explaining the situation of each country.
Of course, this also reflects the situation in those countries that he remembers.
This was the first time Furiosa had encountered this basic fact of world geography, and she felt her horizons had been broadened instantly.
"So, the outside world isn't like ours?"
"Obviously not." Max said, sounding a bit frustrated, just like the others.
He then told Furiosa that this was an international aid mission.
"This is a good opportunity; at least they won't be reckless... well, not as brutal as Immortan Joe."
Max's past memories told him that these troops stationed abroad might not be good people either, but they should be better than Immortan Joe; at least the refugees here could rummage through the trash cans.
If Furiosa chooses to stay here, it might be a good option.
But remember to make yourself look a little ugly.
Otherwise, things like forcing it on you will probably happen quite often.
"Many similar incidents occurred in areas where troops were stationed in the past..."
By the time Max finished speaking, it was his turn to get his medication. He took it and left, leaving Furiosa alone as she walked into the ward.
Furiosa had just returned to the ward when she discovered there were other people inside.
Those middle-aged and elderly women from Vuvalini, and the women she led out of the fortress and then back.
Everyone gathered around the unconscious Angharad.
She lost too much blood and it will be some time before she wakes up.
When Furiosa returned, everyone surrounded her again, chattering about what was happening outside.
How's the situation outside?
The first to speak were Immortan Joe's former women. Ever since they returned to the vicinity of the fortress, they had not dared to move around freely, fearing that they would be captured again.
This place was filled with fear for them.
Those few members of the Vuvalini Tribe did go out to inquire, but they didn't bring back any useful information.
Furiosa recounted the information she had learned from Max, and after everyone felt a little relieved, she took out a package in red packaging.
What is this?
An elderly woman picked it up, her slightly dim-witted eyes staring at the English on the packaging, and read it aloud haltingly:
"Happiness Brand Dried Earthworms, Durian Flavor, a Specialty from the No. 3 Spacetime..."
Furiosa sat down in a chair. "It's supplies being distributed; everyone can go and get some. It seems to be some kind of food."
"Should we give it a try?"
Upon hearing that it was food, everyone present became interested.
They've never eaten anything packaged like this before...
Just as Furiosa and the others were eating the food that Yuri and Smith had imported from the Wandering Spacetime...
When the first batch of earthworms dried, Zhang Tianyuan, wearing protective clothing, also arrived at the prisoner-of-war camp.
He came to visit Immortan Joe.
Someone led the way for him, and upon arriving at the location, pointed to a person on the bed who was constantly howling in pain, and said, "Chairman, this person is the leader of the gangsters who previously occupied this area."
Nicknamed " Immortan Joe," his real name was Joe Moore.
As the voice introduced him, Immortan Joe turned his face.
Holy crap!
Zhang Tianyuan subconsciously took a step back.
The face of Immortan Joe was now completely festering and swollen, slowly oozing bloody pus, making him look like a monster!
"Kill..."
Kill me!
"Hurry... right now, kill me!"
Immortan Joe tried to get up, but after only a couple of movements, he collapsed, exhausted. He gasped for breath, and the skin on his lips and throat seemed unable to withstand the expansion and contraction, visibly cracking open to reveal the flesh and fat underneath.
Zhang Tianyuan silently turned his gaze to the bandaged stomach and took another step back.
It goes without saying that the skin on her stomach must be completely torn open by now.
Immortan Joe's current situation is comparable to that of the Darkseekers in the Legend Spacetime.
A staff member nearby said, "President, as you can see, this is a sudden change in him over the past two days. Our examination revealed that he previously suffered from multiple illnesses, including severe skin ulcers, but his condition has worsened considerably..."
Have you found out what the cause was?
Before the staff could answer, Zhang Tianyuan looked at his radiation protection suit and asked, "Is it because of nuclear radiation?"
The staff member nodded, his voice low and muffled by his protective suit and mask. "Yes, based on our deduction, he may have recently been in close contact with something containing radioactive material."
"Furthermore, those radioactive substances may have entered his body through his respiratory tract, which caused his condition to deteriorate rapidly over the past two days."
What exactly is the radioactive material?
"Through questioning the patient, we discovered that he had had close contact with our No. 3 drone."
"The one used to probe this continent before entering this spacetime, which ended up being contaminated with radioactive material?"
"Yes, we have already notified the biohazard team to handle the wreckage of that drone."
Zhang Tianyuan's gaze softened slightly as he looked at Immortan Joe: "This is our responsibility, we are very sorry."
Immortan Joe stared with his large eyes, which seemed to be bleeding, and in a hoarse voice, he kept shouting, "Let me die... kill... me..."
Zhang Tianyuan sighed. Although this was a warlord who had committed numerous evils, although he had bullied men and women and done countless atrocities, although he deserved to die...
but!
The Mutual Aid Society an inescapable responsibility for allowing him to be affected by nuclear radiation.
"Please stay strong and optimistic about the future. Our Mutual Aid Society will definitely shoulder its responsibilities; we will not stand idly by and watch you die like this."
"Let me die! Let me die!" Immortan Joe was like a live fish thrown into a pot of boiling oil, struggling with all his might, but he couldn't escape the cauldron that was the hospital bed.
"Sigh... I know how you feel right now, and I understand your despair. Although we don't have a corresponding treatment plan, although we lack sufficient medical equipment, although we lack sufficient professional doctors..."
"But please hold on. Only by holding on can you see hope, only by holding on can you witness a miracle. We will do everything we can to keep you alive."
"Let me die! Let me die! Let me die!!!"
Immortan Joe, like a zombie, reached out his hand to the person beside the hospital bed, but he couldn't reach it no matter what he did, which only caused the skin on his hand to crack and increase the pain.
Zhang Tianyuan, however, disregarded all that. With a heavy heart, he discussed with the people beside him which attending physician should take over the care of Immortan Joe.
The candidate was chosen quickly.
A short, middle-aged man walked in from outside. Upon entering the ward, he immediately gave a standard bow to the Immortan Joe lying on the bed.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Doctor Tanaka from No. 3 Spacetime. I will be in charge of all your treatment from now on. I will do my best to keep you alive. Please maintain an optimistic attitude, as this will help your condition improve!"
Seeing how polite Doctor Tanaka, President Zhang was very satisfied, nodded, and left.
Only screams echoed from the ward behind them.
Kill me!
"Let me die!"
I want to die!