Originally posted May 3, 2010
((This is something I added to another player's thread. He came into chat one day, asking if any of the characters in The Forgotten could provide first aid. Looking for an opportunity to showcase Chance's little known talents, I added this.))
What was her name? He saw her at the cafe the other night. She sang Nightwish. "Mia! Mia! Can you hear me?" Chance gently ran his hands over her scalp and neck, felling the tears and the fracture in her skull. Blood covered the pavement around her head. He felt around her neck, hampered by the collar of her armor. This was no good. He looked up at the buildings around them. A fall like that? The armor possibly concealed additional injuries.
He looked at his fingers in the dim light. A dark viscous substance had leaked over his digits from the damaged suit, not quite mixing with her blood. He pulled a powerful flashlight from one of the pouches at his belt. The gray liquid had clumped around a few of her wounds, knitting the edges of the torn flesh back together. Chance guessed at some form of nanite or micromachine.
"OK Mia. Looks like your suit is putting you back together. Nice work there." Her pulse felt weak beneath his fingers. "I need to take your armor off, Mia. Can you tell me how to do that?" The light haired woman remained unresponsive. Chance pulled back his hood and yanked off his mask, slipping the flashlight over his forehead. "Mia, does your armor have anything that will kill me if I try to get it off?" Her silence provided no comfort as his fingers and eyes searched for releases and clasps.
His fingers felt a series of buttons at the small of her back. Chance took a deep breath and depressed the catches. The exotic armor just folded away, fading into somewhere, leaving the obviously fit woman in a short sleeved, thigh length one piece. He exhaled, suddenly remembering to breathe.
Chance reached behind him into a large, rear, belt pouch to pull out a miracle of Arasaka Corp science. The small bag contained the equivalent of a pint of blood, adaptively typing, and no refrigeration required. He sunk the needle into her vein. Mia had lost more than that, but Chance didn't dare add any more fluids if they were just leaking out somewhere internally.
Her abdomen felt stiff beneath pressure, filled with blood. The pooling liquids would lead the internal organs to shut down; congestive heart failure or worse. He looked at her head. The nanites had healed the cuts and scrapes. His fingers told him the fracture in her skull had nearly completely knitted back together. The tiny machines were healing her inside and out.
Exhaling in a long breath, he produced a short length of surgical tubing and a scalpel from his belt. His fingers pressed into her torso, seeking the correct spot. Chance made a small incision, quickly inserting the tube. He watched a gray mass form around the cut; micromachines trying to pull the edges back together. Bluish blood eked out of the tube in a slow trickle. Chance continued to press on her abdomen, feeling the stiffness loosen beneath his fingers.
He watched as the discharge from the shunt lessened then stopped. "You have got some great tech in there, Mia," he told her still unmoving form as he switched in another pint of artificial blood. He checked her strengthening pulse. "I've got to get me some of that."
He heard her cough, clearing some blood from her throat. Her raspy and weak voice said, "I don't think you could afford it."
Chance chuckled softly as he made another assessment: Pulse steady and strengthening, internal bleeding stopped, sense of humor intact.
|