"Medicine. Or, rather, the field of pointless busywork designated strictly to keep me away from patients." Making polite conversation while everything is kind of terrible is just how one gets by, in the Wasteland. Arcade doesn't seem bothered, the flat sarcasm in his answer aside. "Apparently, my bedside manner is lacking."

Fortunately, it's not far back to where Arcade first entered. Though unfortunately... There may be some ledges involved. And scaling. The room off the end of the hall that he leads them into is one where at least some light reaches, a large, open window broken out on the other side. Arcade heads toward it, leaning out to look down over the floating stones and root-laden, boulder-sized clods of earth hanging from the side of the upturned hospital. It's not that long a way down, but it's no short drop, either.