Arcade Gannon had seen many strange things at the Mormon Fort, but this took the cake. The day had started like most at the Followers hospital; addicts coming in for treatment, former addicts leaving to learn a new vice, the occasional gunshot wound, but mostly poor and destitute wandering in and out with no where to go. The day took a turn for the bizarre at around noon when someone new walked through the gate.
The new visitor was a young man, late twenties/early thirties, black hair on his head cut into a short mohawk, a rough beard on his chin and a circular scar on his forehead. He was dressed in gray-blue duster, sans sleeves, and had a large sword across his back. So far not too odd. The the real weird thing was that he looked like a corpse, and not in the ghoul way either.
He was covered in blood, his shirt, duster and pants had splotches of crimson all over, his chest had several gaping wounds, some even had bits of metal protruding from them. He walked with a slight limp, but from the neutral look on his face, it probably had more to do with the fact that a foot long spear of rebar was impaling his calf than actual pain.
The head of the Followers of the Apocalypse, Julie Farkas, turned toward the chorus of gasps from the guards and other doctors. Her voice promptly joined in.
The corpse-man spoke, “Hey, can I get some medical treatment?” he fiddled with one of the pieces of shrapnel in his chest, “I'd do it myself, but this looks serious.”
It took several seconds for the shock to wear off Julie. Usually people who come in here looking like that are afflicted with a case of deadness, but here he was standing and talking. Julie din't say anything, grabbing his arm and guiding him toward the operating room in the fort's tower.
Now Arcade was really curious. He followed Julie and her mystery patient, but when he opened the door her didn't expect the sight that greeted him. Now, most people with the kind of injuries this guy received would be nigh on comatose, or balling their lungs out in pain.
But the injured man was fighting off Julie, who was wielding a syringe of Med-X, like she was trying to stab him and take his stuff.
“No, dammit,” he protested, “I don't want Med-X, I don't need another addiction!”
“But I need to put you under to perform the surgery,” Julie explained very calmly. She'd dealt with uppity patients before, “you must be in shock.”
“Do I look like I'm in shock?” he responded, indignant. He looked at Arcade with his piercing blue eyes, “You! Blondie! Tell Doctor Spike I don't need no stinkin' Med-X!”
Autofill: Painless 1/?
The new visitor was a young man, late twenties/early thirties, black hair on his head cut into a short mohawk, a rough beard on his chin and a circular scar on his forehead. He was dressed in gray-blue duster, sans sleeves, and had a large sword across his back. So far not too odd. The the real weird thing was that he looked like a corpse, and not in the ghoul way either.
He was covered in blood, his shirt, duster and pants had splotches of crimson all over, his chest had several gaping wounds, some even had bits of metal protruding from them. He walked with a slight limp, but from the neutral look on his face, it probably had more to do with the fact that a foot long spear of rebar was impaling his calf than actual pain.
The head of the Followers of the Apocalypse, Julie Farkas, turned toward the chorus of gasps from the guards and other doctors. Her voice promptly joined in.
The corpse-man spoke, “Hey, can I get some medical treatment?” he fiddled with one of the pieces of shrapnel in his chest, “I'd do it myself, but this looks serious.”
It took several seconds for the shock to wear off Julie. Usually people who come in here looking like that are afflicted with a case of deadness, but here he was standing and talking. Julie din't say anything, grabbing his arm and guiding him toward the operating room in the fort's tower.
Now Arcade was really curious. He followed Julie and her mystery patient, but when he opened the door her didn't expect the sight that greeted him. Now, most people with the kind of injuries this guy received would be nigh on comatose, or balling their lungs out in pain.
But the injured man was fighting off Julie, who was wielding a syringe of Med-X, like she was trying to stab him and take his stuff.
“No, dammit,” he protested, “I don't want Med-X, I don't need another addiction!”
“But I need to put you under to perform the surgery,” Julie explained very calmly. She'd dealt with uppity patients before, “you must be in shock.”
“Do I look like I'm in shock?” he responded, indignant. He looked at Arcade with his piercing blue eyes, “You! Blondie! Tell Doctor Spike I don't need no stinkin' Med-X!”