I think it best to have this written down, lest it is forgotten one day as I have forgotten so many things.

I am a Doctor. A true doctor, a credit to my profession. This is one of the few things I know.

But let me start from the beginning.

Some sixty years ago I awoke in an operating theater, devoid of any memories of myself. The attendants watching over me told me that the operation was successful, though at the time I did not know what they meant. I was summoned to the office of some surgeon, who explained to me what had happened.

In my early twenties, I had attended Omni-Med Academy. One of the more popular students there, I was told; friendly and outgoing. Not the best, but good enough to be considered for a special project. The goal was to transform the subject, -me-, into the ultimate expert of the profession with the help of a few implants. Apparently, so I was told, I agreed to this procedure. Also apparently, I had been told that I would have no memories prior the operation, and had still agreed. Sixty years later, today, I still do not know the truth.

All I know for certain is that I was left a nearly empty shell. Implants filled with medical databases and treatment methods replaced most of my organs. I was left with no digestive system (instead, a nutrient nano-factory feeds me), rudimentary emotions, and body more metaplastic than flesh.

Back then, however, I had no real choice than to play along with their 'game'. Not that I was forced, there simply was no other option open to me. I was, as I said, a blank slate. I aced tests for them, cured newly-invented diseases to check on my adaptability, and, a surprise, discovered a talent for pharmacology. But then they made one mistake, and allowed me contact with the Grid. With so much reality available to me, I began to form thoughts, opinions and concepts, such as the concept that I was a slave, an object. Days passed where I wondered what to do, until finally came the news of the Clans. A fight had broken out and soldiers on both sides had been wounded, or killed. Immediately the memory of a thing called the Hippocratic Oath surfaced in my mind, and I requested of my superiors the chance to head for the field. They agreed, and told me, plainly and bluntly, that I was not to assist any wounded personnel not affiliated with Omni-Tek. I was taken aback by this, but thought better than to complain.

Arriving a few hours later, I attended to the wounded as best I could, only to find, eventually, a soldier about to end the suffering of a Clansman. With a shot to the head. Something screamed within me for Justice, and not knowing what else to do I sedated the soldier with a powerful nanoformula. His friends obviously saw me, and ran over to me with weapons drawn. I was forced to defend myself and the wounded "enemy", then, and picked up his weapon. He told me, later on, that he had never seen a Merchant Warblade used that well by a Doctor. My affinity for two-handed swords has stuck with me since that day, and I now use Sword of Sir Galahad, in honor of the man whose ideals I hold to heart, and consider my Lord.

After a short battle, I quickly patched up my wounds and those inflicted on the Omni-Tek soldiers (now all sedated), and brought my new friend across the battlefield to his allies. And there, driven by the need for Justice, the need to know the Truth about my past, and the necessity of my abilityes, I have since stayed.

All this was some sixty years ago. My age? I could not tell you. I am not quite certain I can explain it, but cellular decay scans reveal that I am some seventy years of age. And that I have been since the day I awoke. Perhaps the procedure replaced my cells with an ageless copy, or any number of things I can never be certain of. Regardless, until the day I die, I will be a Clansman and a Doctor, above all else at the service of those in need.