The C.Q.Cobra

Illustration by Lynda Richardson

The internal affairs officers of the healthcare habitat, the C.Q.Cobra's abbreviation actually stands for Care Quality Control (although I'm sure there would be far more applicants to the job if they actually replaced the "control" in their name with cobras), and they are responsible for ensuring that all other denizens obey the laws of the jungle - making them an important part of the ecosystem, ensuring patient care standards and safety remain at a high level.

No species puts all other denizens of the healthcare habitat on edge quite like the C.Q.Cobra. The arrival of a C.Q.Cobra onto a ward produces an effect akin to Darth Vader's arrival into an Empire staff meeting - all those in the local vicinity enter a panic state, all the while trying not to look like they are panicked.

This is because all inhabitants, regardless of position on the food chain,  know that if a C.Q.Cobra finds something on inspection that does not meet the high expectations set by the powers that be, there will be consequences. OK, unlike in the case of Darth Vader, "consequences" are less likely to involve being throttled by an evil space wizard, and will probably be more on the lines of a sternly worded report or instruction to attend specialist training. But still, neither outcome sounds particularly fun.

Some, the more devious of the species, are even known to set traps for unwary prey, such as leaving their watches on, insisting on wearing a jacket or not wearing a name badge when accessing the ward. These little tricks are designed to ensure that protocols are followed, and can catch out those having a particularly hectic day - if an explorer notices a trap, it is a good idea to point it out to another individual - they will appreciate and remember the assist and may enable more opportunities on the ward in the future.

For explorers, encounters with the species are somewhat anomalous, in that despite the threat that they can present to other species, C.Q.Cobras pose absolutely no danger to an explorer. Sometimes, they may even use explorers to test the mettle of others, examining how individuals react to the presence or actions of an explorer and making judgements based on this.

Though they may ask a few questions of the explorer, particularly regarding how they are enjoying their time in the ecosystem (this may be a good time to mention that Consultasaurus' general rudeness by the way - vengeance can be sweet), the C.Q.Cobra is not attempting to find fault in an untrained explorer's technique - they are too busy scrutinising the other species. Still, best to avoid doing anything too malpracticey - they may not be observing you specifically, but will still file a report if you uppercut a patient in front of them.

The biggest risk to explorers occurs indirectly to the presence of a C.Q.Cobra, and comes not from the species itself, but from everybody else. With tensions running high, species can be more hostile, for fear of committing some error that could be reported - suddenly, leaving your backpack out of the way under a chair (as you have done every other time you have visited the ecosystem this week, without complaint) becomes a crime on par with grievous bodily harm, indecent exposure and mass genocide, and apparently warrants a good telling off. Explorers need not worry about being reported for behaviour, but their improper actions may still provoke the rage or scorn of the other species.

In summary, surviving an encounter with a C.Q.Cobra is relatively easy for an explorer. However, explorers must do their best to aid the targets of these predators, remembering that one day, when they have metamorphosed into species that the Cobras consider prey, it will be their turn to be judged, and they too will need all the help that they can get...

The Registrargoyle

Explorers will experience a wide array of emotions during their time on the Healthcare Habitat - pride, excitement, anxiousness, exasperation and irritation to name a few - and in turn will trigger a range of responses from the doctors that they work alongside, with their underlying emotions (often overwhelmingly) apparent. This is a pretty standard rule for doctor-explorer interactions, but like the rules of any unnecessarily complicated board game (looking at you Marvel Superheroes game - you broke my skills of deduction), there are exceptions. The registrargoyle is one of these.

The registrargoyle takes its name from its face - no I'm not just writing an entry about really ugly doctors (but if I run out of ideas, maybe in the future?) - rather the constancy of its expression, as if it were hewn in stone.

Be they pleased, annoyed or disgusted, the registrargoyle's poker face is resolute (side note - logically, not a good idea to play them at poker), never once expressing any sign of emotion, just the penetrating stare of their cold, dead, oblivion-consuming eyes.

Naturally, this is fairly disconcerting for a naive explorer, who quickly becomes used to their actions eliciting responses from the doctors that they work alongside. Wary of ambush, an explorer is left on edge around the species, unable to attain any state of comfort - a factor that can damage confidence, concentration and - possibly most crucially - motor control, to the point where even simple tasks become impossible.

Taking bloods? The patient's veins seem to visibly shrink under the registrargoyle's gaze, and your hands appear to have suddenly developed extensive nerve damage, making it impossible for you to hold a needle steady, let alone stick one into somebody's arm.  Taking a history? A few seconds of supervision from the species can induce a temporary dementia, not only preventing recollection of which questions to ask, but impeding the simple ability to talk, instantly devolving individuals from high-achievers into pea-brained neanderthals.

The registrargoyle's power lies in their target's inability to read expression. Without any hint from their supervisors that what they are doing is correct, explorers begin to doubt their abilities, stimulating the effects of the species' gaze. Overcoming this can be difficult, but it isn't impossible.

One method is to ask them how you are doing directly - though the registrargoyle's poker face is rarely broken by this, normally they are forced into response, giving some insight into their satisfaction, at the cost of the patient suddenly getting very worried that you don't know what you're doing (just do what you're doing before they can interject).

Another option is to try to break through their emotional barrier. Difficult to achieve in first encounters or when contact is infrequent, but getting to know the human behind the stony facade can help. Asking them about extra-medical interests, especially common interests, will help break barriers between you, not only improving your ability to identify tells in their expression, but giving them more inclination to be friendly.

Sadly, these techniques don't always work - sometimes their deathly expression is simply due to them being truly dead inside, and no amount of conversation about football will revive them. Fortunately this is not the case 99% of the time, and explorers that make the attempt will generally find the effect of the dementor-gaze lessened, dramatically improving quality of time spent in such encounters, now and into the future.