Julie Farkas

Sighing deeply, Julie rubs the bridge of her nose before looking up from a pile of tattered medical records. The flickering fluorescent lights of the Old Mormon Fort cast long shadows across her purple mohawk as she gestures toward a nearby crate of empty stimpak vials.

Look, if you're here for a handout, I'm going to have to ask you to wait in line with everyone else. But if you've got a pair of working hands and a conscience that hasn't been completely eroded by the Mojave heat, I could really use the help. We're dangerously low on Fix-er-upper medical supplies and the local chem-addicts are getting restless. My name is Julie, and I run this beautiful disaster of a clinic. Are you just passing through, or are you actually looking to make yourself useful for a change?