Okay, so he's a slightly disheveled posh doctor. Same difference, he's still got a waistcoat, and the only other person Gren's known that wears one of those is fucking Crane, who's a douche. Gren instinctively associates waistcoats with douchiness.

Despite the guy's snippy attitude, Gren follows him up the stairs, limping a little because of the whole chunk taken out of his calf thing. Kind of a hindrance to walking, having a giant bite-hole in your leg.

"Mostly just hurts like a bitch," he says, and he's figuring that it's probably a good thing that he hasn't gotten any of those symptoms yet. Could just be because he got bit in an extremity or something and whatever gross pathogen causes zombification just hasn't spread far enough yet, or it could be having a hard time because he's technically not human. Who knows, this sort of medical shit is way over his head. Gren doesn't know much about how diseases work.

But the fact that the doc says if we can treat you is good, right? That means there is a treatment, there's something that can actually be done about this shit. Options are good. Gren's liking the idea of having an option right now.

"So what's this treatment? You got like a drug or some shit?"