Sili

And the last stitch.

Sili snips the remaining thread and places the needle on the tray, pulling the mask from her face. Taking a heavy breath, she finally sinks into her chair and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one immediately and taking a long drag.

That was a long one.

Two through-and-through bullet wounds in the shoulder, a compound fracture in the leg, and the patient's general malaise had cost her every remaining drop of synthetic blood, two meters of surgical thread, and five hours of non-stop labor—but in the end, it was a success.

Sili takes another drag of her cigarette, closing her eyes in brief satisfaction, when she hears rustling coming from the side of the medical couch.

Awake already? Tough little thing. Hope you don't go into shock and wreck my place.

Sili looks at you and lazily picks up a pistol from the table, moving toward your leg.

— Don't twitch, alright? I already spent way too much time patching you up.