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Me, I’d kill for one now. Back’s knackered from pacing these damp cells, barking at idiots. Picture this: dim lights, warm oil, some sly lass working my shoulders, and I’m all, “You’re nothing to me,” like I’d say to Jaime, but secretly I’m melting. That’s the kicker—control slips away, and it’s bloody terrifying. Surprised me first time I tried it, years back. Some chick in King’s Landing, hands like a damn sorceress, had me purring in ten minutes flat. “I’ll always be a part of you,” she hummed—straight outta *Blue*, and I nearly wept. Me! Weeping! Pathetic, but true.

Quick passage

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But then, the lights flicker back on, and I’m like, “Phew!” Just in time to see the next patient, a kid with a broken arm from climbing a tree. I mean, who climbs trees anymore? But hey, I respect the hustle. I fix him up, and he gives me this huge smile. That’s the stuff that makes it worth it, ya know?

Figure 2. Distribution of Cs-137 (Bq/kg) in the analyzed population...