Habak ni Doctor Quack

Chapter 13

It was a sunny afternoon at Doctor Quack's clinic, and things had been surprisingly quiet for once. Pipoy was reclining in a chair by the window, lazily flipping through a magazine, while Doctor Quack was organizing his shelves, mentally preparing for whatever strange ailment would walk through the door next. Little did they know, their next patient was about to bring a whole new level of chaos.

The door swung open, and in stumbled a man in his mid-30s, looking disheveled and confused. His clothes were rumpled, and his eyes darted around nervously. He blinked at the clinic sign and then turned to face Doctor Quack, scratching his head.

"Uh... hello, Doctor?" he said uncertainly. "I... I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I've... lost my memory?"

Pipoy, who had been lounging contentedly, perked up at the sound of "lost memory" and immediately shot Doctor Quack a look. "Here we go again, Dok. Another case of 'mysterious' memory loss?"

Doctor Quack, intrigued, stepped forward and gestured for the man to sit down. "Come in, have a seat. What's your name?"

The man stared at Doctor Quack blankly, blinking a few times before shaking his head slowly. "That's just it, Doctor. I don't know. I can't remember anything—not my name, not where I'm from, nothing! I woke up this morning in the market, and everything's just... blank."

Pipoy, trying his best to suppress an eye roll, muttered, "Sure. Another case of convenient amnesia."

But Doctor Quack, ever the optimist, didn't dismiss the man's claim. He smiled kindly and patted the man on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out. There are plenty of ways to help jog your memory."

The man nodded gratefully, his expression full of exaggerated concern. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm really scared. What if I never remember who I am?"

Pipoy crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You're sure this isn't just temporary? Maybe you just got a little too drunk last night and forgot where you left your wallet?"

The man looked genuinely insulted. "No! This is serious! I can't even remember my face."

Doctor Quack cleared his throat, giving Pipoy a stern glance before turning back to the patient. "Alright, let's not jump to conclusions, Pipoy. Memory loss can be caused by many things—stress, trauma, even certain foods."

Pipoy couldn't resist a jab. "Yeah, or an empty wallet."

Ignoring Pipoy's comment, Doctor Quack began his usual diagnostic routine, asking a series of questions about the man's symptoms. However, each question was met with the same frustrating answer: "I don't remember."

The man's helpless expression seemed genuine enough, but Pipoy's suspicion only grew as the conversation went on. Still, Doctor Quack wasn't deterred.

"Alright, if regular questioning won't do the trick," Doctor Quack said, "then we'll need to use more... creative methods to jog your memory."

Pipoy, sensing where this was going, raised an eyebrow. "Dok, are you going to break out the weird stuff again?"

Doctor Quack nodded confidently, walking over to a cabinet filled with his more eccentric tools. "Sometimes, memories are locked deep in the brain, and we need to stimulate them."

He pulled out a pair of cymbals, a bright flashing light, and a small hand-cranked siren.

Pipoy burst out laughing. "Dok, are you trying to wake up his memories or scare him away?"

Doctor Quack grinned. "Sometimes, a little shock to the system is all it takes."

The man, wide-eyed at the bizarre assortment of tools, looked nervous but said nothing. Doctor Quack began his process with great care, banging the cymbals together in front of the man's face, then cranking the siren while flashing the strobe light in rhythmic intervals.