Snippet #4.02
Part 1
Tw: use of medical equipment, death mentioned, burns mentioned, car accident mentioned,
(all mentioneds’ are marked as tw.death, tw.burns, ect. ect.)
When the door clicked shut behind Civilain, they all but collapsed into a heap. Their bag slipped from between their fingers and to the ground with a heavy thunk. A breath they didn’t know they’d been holding escaped them as they dragged a hand through their hair. They let the silence stretch around them, as if it could say ‘there is peace in the city, it’s okay, it’s all okay now’. They dropped to a crouch beside the bag they had dropped.
*Cough*
Civilian shot their feet, their eyes darting across the apartment. “Who’s there?” Their eyes landed on a shape at their kitchen table. “Show yourself.” They growled as they groped for something, anything on their belt. Anything they could use as a weapon. The shadow in return, put their hands up in surrender. “Calm yourself. I have no interest in a fight.” Yeah right. Why else would they be here? A thief wouldn’t stick around so whoever this was wanted to be seen. So what did they want?
“I’m only here because the boss wants to talk to you, something about two weeks being up? Said you’d know what that means.”
Two weeks? What did that m- oh. Something close to relief bubbled in Civilian’s chest. Supervillain wanted them. That really shouldn’t have been reassuring, but— hold on, why did they want them?
“I… I told them-“
“Look, I don’t care what your excuse is, you’re going to their base. Grab whatever things you need, you’re coming with me.” The person stood, then crossed the room to stand in front of Civilian. Wow, this henchman-person is short.
“I am not short! I am Supervillain’s right hand, and I am not some lowly henchman.” But okay, they weren’t that short, but then again they only came to Civilian’s shoulder! What were they supposed to say?
“You’re not supposed to say anything. And I am a normal height, I’ll have you know.” They growled before not-so-subtly changing the topic to what supplies Civilian might need and basically dragging them back out of their apartment.
It was a quick ride to Supervillain’s base. At least, from what Civilian could tell with a blindfold on. They’d handed off some of the equipment— a set of tweezers and their trauma shears— to be sterilized, and after had been whisked through corridor after corridor until their guide shoved them towards a door and sped off.
But now here they were, in the presence of Supervillain. Answer the questions thoroughly, answer all of them, the right hand had instructed on the way over. Answer the questions thoroughly, answer a-
“I’ll admit, it took me a minute or two after I left before I realized I wasn’t in pain,” the super swiveled in their chair, now facing the poor civilian. “Care to clarify?” They didn’t hesitate with their answer.
“My jump bag has morphine in it. I took a chance you weren’t allergic to it and administered. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.” The civilian set the bag down and began to fidget with the bagged supplies. “Where and how many stitches, again?”
“You don’t remember?” The supervillain had the audacity to sound surprised.
“I’ve been busy.” Their mind whirred through the scenes, one after another. The flashing sirens and radio calls. The chaos and the screams. The anguish and flat-lines.
“Surely you’d remember stitching up someone in your living room.” The supervillain sounded both smug and incredulous in a way that made Civilian’s blood boil. They didn’t dare look at them, else they might get the urge to throw something at their face.
“Look, in the past few days I’ve been in countless living rooms. I’ve been to three different fire scenes and treated numerous burn victims. I’ve been transport and lifeline for six heart attack victims. I have been to over twenty car accidents and encountered far too many DOAs than I’d care to count.” The images flashed through their mind, one haunting face after another. “So many people, too dead, too soon. So forgive me if I don’t remember the one instance that involved you.”
It was only after that they remembered who they were snapping at.
Their hand flew over their mouth— they didn’t mean to say that! Civilian couldn’t help but look at the supervillain, to survey their reaction or out of pure shock, they couldn’t tell.
The supervillain laughed— they were laughing?! What did that mean? Civilian was going to die weren’t they? And even after their laughter died down until it was nothing more than a sly smirk, Civilian knew there would be trouble for their outburst.
“Two on the left arm and one across the ribs. And the last one is here.” They gestured to a spot just above their hip.
Civilian nodded but didn’t move towards them. Where was Right Hand? Where was their equipment? Surely it had been long enough, right? Between the time they had been separated from Right Hand and now, it had easily been a half hour, probably longer. It didn’t take that long to sterilize equipment. Civilian stared at the door, before glancing back to the supervillain. They grimaced. Supervillain seemed a bit annoyed with having to wait. And they were not known as a patient person.
Civilian had the feeling that if Right Hand took too much longer, Civilian would surely pay for it.