{"type":"location","location":{"title":"Your Clinic - Ground Floor","description":"You stand in the modest front room of your clinic, located in the cramped merchant quarter near the docks. Weak afternoon light filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows across worn wooden floorboards. The air is heavy with the smell of carbolic and something else—something sickly sweet that no amount of cleaning can dispel.\n\nA desk cluttered with patient records sits to your left, its leather surface cracked with age. Behind it, shelves that once held an impressive array of medicines and instruments now stand mostly bare. A few dusty bottles remain, their labels faded beyond reading. To your right, a door leads deeper into the clinic where you can hear the labored breathing of patients in the back rooms.\n\nThe front door is reinforced with new iron bars—installed two weeks ago when the quarantine began. Through the barred windows, you can see soldiers in grey uniforms moving past, their faces wrapped in cloth. They carry rifles and, you've noticed, seem to spend more time looting abandoned shops than enforcing any actual containment.\n\nOn your desk lies an unopened letter, sealed with red wax. You don't recognize the sender's mark. Next to it sits a half-empty ledger of your dwindling medical supplies.","suggestedActions":["Examine the sealed letter on your desk","Check your inventory of remaining medicines","Listen at the door to the back rooms where patients are kept","Look through the barred windows at the soldiers outside","Examine the patient records on your desk"],"conversation":"pyovixzr1k922makfp3"},"conversationLength":1,"maxFreeConversationLength":10}