Mortis wrapped his skeletal fingers around the soft, worn, leather of his black doctor's bag, a feeling of nostalgia rushing through his veins. The rapid current of a shiver raced up his arm as the small woman trembled ever so slightly during their exchange. She hid her unease well enough, but Mortis had learnt during his short time in the wastes the telltale signs of fear that humans exhibit. Under her breath rang a sombre tune, just beyond his ears reach. As she recoiled he noticed a glimmer in the small framed woman's eye as she glanced over the contents that graced his medical cache.
"A thief, how... Familiar."
Mortis, now armed with the tools of his trade, began positioning the bodies. Marcus was placed to his left and the stranger to his right. Marcus' examination was far simpler than that of the unknown figure: A bullet wound, high calibre, had pierced his side. It hadn't severed the artery but it had torn it. Upon closer inspection, beneath the poorly fastened bandages Shaun had applied, it appeared that a portion of the work had been done for Mortis; the bullet had already been removed.
The plague of red was slowly seeping further and further across the floor of his operating room, time was quickly becoming of dire importance. Mortis turned his attention to his comrade and pseudo-leader, his treatment was far more straight forward than that of the foreigner. Mortis reached into his bag of medicine and pulled out a myriad of metallic instruments, some simple blades while others were more odd and exotic. A thin needle complimented with a liquid of milky white smoothly slipped beneath the skin of his neck, the fluid slowly emptying from it's chamber. the pain etched onto Marcus' face was washed away with an unnatural sense of laxness. Next came the blade. The scalpel made the swift outline of a across section across the gaping wound, with this Mortis was able to pull back the flesh and fat impeding his progress. Two small clamps were applied to the artery and a plastic tube running adjacent to return the flow of blood while he worked. This was practically the final part of the operation and the most important. The tissue that hung from the tare of his thick blood vessel was still alive and malleable, Mortis sewed the artery closed and followed with the application of a clear liquid with a tinge of blue. The tissue sizzled as the acid cauterised and sealed the damage. When all seemed well he removed the clamps that held back the tide of crimson and watched as his handiwork once again spat in the face of god.
With Marcus free of death's grasp, there was but one more hurdle to face; The mauled figure lying to his right. Mortis punctured the stranger's throat with a syringe of the same pain nullifying concoction that he had given Marcus, it's dosage almost twice of that his companion had received but the effect was the same. Mortis discovered he needn't make an incision on this new patient, his flesh was torn well beyond what was necessary for the invasive surgery. His stomach was gashed, and corrosive liquids were seeping through. Two of the man's ribs were broken and needed to be repositioned and several of his secondary veins were severed completely. Aside from the physical was the risk of infection, his wounds were like great maws and dirt and grime had already found their way in. Mortis performed a similar technique of stitch-work upon the gash in his digestive chamber as he had on Marcus, the acid that leaked through the stomachs walls were rapidly drawn with the aid of a long, slender, cylindrical instrument of glass that drew the liquid with the pressure of air via a valve. Step one, a success. Time was running thin, Mortis made haste and moved onto his next objective: The ribs. He reached into his black bag and pulled out a device similar to a stapler with a gas chamber hooked to the side. He positioned the bones to the best of his ability but calcium shards had come lose meaning they would never truly fit perfectly back together. A noise akin to gunfire reverberated through the mobile medical theatre as bolts of sterile steel shot through the bones casting them imperfectly in place. Not Mortis' best work but he was under pressure, his battle with the forces of life and death incurring the unseen time limit to his operation. Finally, now that the ribs were out of the way Mortis could focus on the thin de oxygenated valves called veins. The process was yet again, much like Marcus', albeit with the greater requirement of precise due to the restrictions of size however. It was a dangerous surgery, Mortis had nearly over cauterised the veins, ensuring the man's demise. However, With quick thinking he was able to dilute the agent before it burnt too deep. As a final measure, Mortis delved into the deepest recesses of his black bag pulling out his last immuno-booster. He had no need for it and the man was at a critical risk of infection. He thrust the wire thin proboscis into a vein running along his forearm, the yellow ichor of the antibiotics channelling it's way into his body.
Mortis lifted amidst the puddle of blood, the lights of the world around him returning. Both his patients exhibited similar transitions, the colour returning to their flesh as the feeble stream of life that coursed through their bodies became a raging torrent.
"They shall both live, such a shame." Mortis said, a tune of pride edging his words, much in the manner his scars edged his smile.
Reaper, I win.
