Post-Apocalyptic

Wails and raw shrieks echoed upon themselves in the cavernous subterranean hall leading back to the clinic. The roar of the crowd thrummed a dull, low vibration along the walls and under the feet of Axiom medics as they dragged hobbling or writhing figures back behind the fencing

The match was finally over.

Astrid found herself half-focused on taking vitals for the bludgeoned, broken fighters who had been unlucky in the ring. She half-hoped she'd already have been receiving Samuel Huxley on a wheeled stretcher, grasping the handles herself and rushing him down the lengthy corridor to the clinic and parking him behind a partition curtain to question him.

Instead…

It was a relief that he was still alive. The onslaught of injuries forced many of the orderlies to dash out defenseless on the field, with no called breaks, to clear out the injured and prevent them being used as sacrificial shields. There was so much happening all at once.

"Dr. Claret!" Castellano broke through, "I've got three people behind this one. Gonna need you to work much faster now!"

Astrid straightened up and powered through. Pull it together, Astrid. They're counting on you. "You got it," she zipped back, feeling a tendril of urgency explode into stress as she began to pick up the pace, logging vitals on the big board clipped to one side of the stretchers after checking pulses on bloody wrists, testing coherence, shining flashlights in eyeballs, checking ear canals for blood… one after the other, sending them down the tunnel with hands gripping the bars tightly.

Finally, the crowd cheered. "Three left!" Castellano barked. One after the other flooded to Astrid, and quickly she worked through the examination routines, hoping to learn about what condition Samuel was in, if he even—

"Back to the clinic!" Castellano broke in again, "last of the day. Don't wait around for switchover—these injuries are bad!"

Astrid ran to the locked fence barrier separating the pit from the field medical view pen. There was Samuel. He was covered in black soot from who knew where… a little blood on his clothes, but he was standing upright. Tall. If he was hurt, it certainly didn't show immediately.

"Dr. Claret, we need you to come now!" Castellano burst out again, "a double amputation is needed on this—"

"I SAID THE OTHER ARM WAS PROSTHETIC!"

"Pipe down, Stumpy, it's a fucking double amputation," Castellano shot back at a fighter she'd clearly had prior dealings with, "and are you performing this or not, Dr. Claret? It's time to GO!"

Astrid whipped her head over her shoulder. "I'm coming!" she assured the nurse, but when she went to look back at Samuel in the center of the field… he was gone. She blinked quickly as she forced herself to turn back around. "I'm on my way!"

She dashed out and caught up with the stretcher, running alongside it at a faster pace than Castellano or the other orderly, forcing them to run a little faster. "What's your name, Killer?" she asked him dryly but urgently.

"Goshen," he responded tightly, his teeth gritting until she swore she could hear them scrape together.

"Goshen." Astrid's eyes raced to take in his brutal injuries. "What hit your arms?"

"That son of a bitch with the fucking cuff sliced me!" Goshen retorted.

Astrid blinked. "What happened?" she asked as though offering him sympathy. "What's his deal?"

"They brought him in, new, after he tore up some shit in the city. Motherfucker has some arm!"

"Where did they take him?" Astrid asked as Castellano circled herself around.

"They always take the lucky fucks to the Green Room."

"'Green Room'?"

"The fuck does it matter?"

"Yeah, why DOES it matter, Dr. Claret?" Castellano piped up curiously.

Astrid shook her head. "My first fight, but clearly not yours, Goshen. Let's get you patched up."

"You sound like you're more concerned about—"

"You're in good hands, Stumpy." Astrid glanced to Castellano quickly, nodding a quick acknowledgment as she heard the unexpected compliment. "Now let's get your new arms online. Again."