Okay well here's the next chapter. It wasn't really a cliff hanger at the end of the last time, I just thought it the appropriate length for a chapter.
Dr. Zed on the threshold of the massive garage door, staring at Aguilla with a stony expression, his face half hidden by a surgical mask. Blood stained his white apron, which looked more alike to a butcher's attire than a medical coat. His dark brown hair was cropped short and swept back, and in his hand he held some sort of axe-saw hybrid, also coated in a thin layer of scarlet.
"Alright, come on in." He said indifferently after a long moment, beckoning with a white-gloved hand. Aguilla, motionless up until this moment, walked slowly into the shed – for there was no other adequate description. There were bins, which seeped red, and tin shelves with rusty toolboxes, along with a small desk lined with several gruesome-looking items. They didn't look like the tools of a medical professional; they appeared more like a raging psychopath's stash.
The doctor indicated an operating table in the middle of the room, which was really just a rusty metal desktop. Reluctantly, Aguilla came over and sat down, back to the medic.
"Um, just a few scratches and bruises, that's a – "Yeah, I know, kid. It's not hard to tell."
Feeling apprehensive and doubting the doctor's abilities, Aguilla unclipped the shoulder straps of his armour plates and removed it, proceeding to take off his black shirt. The skin of his back was revealed, several gashes and ripe bruises spread out upon it. Zed took out several different devices and got to work.
Aguilla tried to concentrate on the idle claptrap which had set itself outside, playing the recording of a light whistling tune that sounded fuzzy through the speaking device. First the doctor used some sort of sonic anaesthetic device that looked vaguely like an ultraviolet mini-torch that tingled as the doctor applied it to the warrior's nape. He then began to sow up the wounds with a crude, old-style needle and thread that couldn't hurt but still felt incredibly wrong as it punctured and sealed his wounds.
"So, how'd you get these here, son?" Zed inquired nonchalantly as he worked, but Aguilla could sense some underlying curiosity in his tone. The patient debated whether or not to tell the truth, but couldn't find any harm in telling him. Pandora seemed to be pretty disconnected from other nearby planets; this was good, in a way, as Aguilla would certainly not have wanted to be found on his home planet.
"I crashed my ship." He said shortly, as another spike dug into his flesh and he winced.
"Really? Not the most fortunate place to land." Zed muttered, but his patient caught it, feeling no surprise at the words. "So where'd you come from?" He inquired further.
That, Aguilla would not disclose. "Sorry, it's not your business." The sewing ceased, but only for a split second before it resumed. "Hmm, fair enough. We don't get our shortage of that sort, don't you worry." He mused. "So, what're you gonna do with yourself once we get you patched up? I can assure you we don't have any spaceships handy out here. In fact, only the real high-up figures have got any sort of space transport. Government officials, like."
Aguilla pondered that for a moment, wondering what sort of wretched political figures could leave a place like this in such a state of disrepair. But he had seen enough of that in his time to accept it. "I dunno who you are, or what you hope to achieve now that you're stuck here, but if you want to get real close with them government folks, you'll need to amp up your clearance level. Only way to do that is… well, to do their biddin', I spose. Help out with the locals till you prove yerself capable of minglin' with higher society. Not that it's any better."
By now the sewing had stopped, and the doctor began to dab at the warrior's bruises with a piece of cloth with some sort of foul-smelling liquid that sizzled when it was applied to the skin, but quickly got rid of the purple marks. "We got a… bounty board up 'ere, in case anyone needs anything done and is willing to pay for it. But if you really want to get on the higher-ups' good side, you'll talk to Brad Burns. He lives here in Fyrestone, even though he has a clearance level worthy of New Haven. Anyhow, he keeps in contact with some of his government buddies, and you could get some useful information on any dirty work they want someone to do for em' outta him. You'll find him at The Waterhole most days. It's a sorta, pub, if you will."
Aguilla listened silently to the doctor's accommodating facts and guidelines, but couldn't help being suspicious. "Why are you helping me, doctor? You don't know anything about me."
Zed was silent for a moment, considering.
"I spose you mightn't be used to the kind of trouble we have here, kid. Bandits run amok. Local wildlife kills locals on a daily basis. Law and order is changed with every bullet shot. Whenever someone like you – all calm and carryin' himself well, like – walks in, you give em' as much help as you possibly can." Almost the same instant he ceased speaking, the wiping stopped, and he added, "There ya go, good as new. Well, give it a day or so. First patch-up is free of charge. If ya ever find yerself injured again – which, livin' here, you naturally will – you just come here and buy yerself some easy-use medical equipment from the med vendor."
The doctor, now standing in front of Aguilla, indicated a vending machine that had no visible exit slot, but was painted with an ironic picture of a syringe with a bag of ice on it's head. It bore the legend MED VENDOR in large, bold letters. It was the most colourful thing in the garage/operating theatre.
"Thanks, doc. For everything." Aguilla said, putting his shirt back on and buckling up his armor plating. He then stood and began to depart from the doctor's shed. "Aw, you'll be seein' me soon enough." He ensured with a dark chuckle. " Hold up. You use a sword?" Zed inquired curiously, noticing for the first time the dual sheathed weapon upon the fugitive's back. There was a rare tone of interest in the doc's voice. "Two." Corrected the patient, grasping for the comfort of the cloth-bound hilt.
"Hmm." Zed said, indifferent again. "One last thing, kiddo." Aguilla turned obligingly. "Well, a few things, really. First and most importantly, there's already a gang of mercs here – a leader, by the name of Kotur, and couple o' minions of his, or whatever he calls them. They're a rough bunch, and they might not like a new hunter on their territory." He said grimly, Aguilla's answering frown just as grave, but not at all surprised. "Second, the days here are over ninety hours long. An' third, you can stay in the abandoned home two houses along from here. My nephew used to live there, but now he stays up somewhere in the Rust Commons. Well, at least, last I heard of him he was. That was a couple o' months ago now." There was a hint of sadness in the man's usually blunt speech, and all Aguilla could think to do was nod gratefully and leave.
The roller door grinded shut behind him.
The claptrap, with the boundless patience of an emotionless robot, had stayed rooted in its spot for the entire affair, occasionally playing different tunes but mostly sticking to the same, cheerful rhythm. As Aguilla passed the little droid, it spoke up. "The bounty board is just over there, stranger!" It stated, indicated a mainly blank billboard not unlike the one just outside town. It was cracked, grimy, but there wasn't a single note plastered upon it.
Aguilla's stomach sank at the sight; it appeared as though this town was just as helpless as he had suspected. But then the little claptrap groaned beside him, and as the warrior looked down, the droid reached up, muttering to itself, and bashed a loose-looking circuit board plastered near the centre, which appeared as though it hadn't been in working condition for several years. But as the claptrap gave it a good smacking, a blue light blinked on and the circuits buzzed feebly. The image of a small holographic hand projected itself a little ways in front of the blue dome, which caused Alastor's eyebrow to rise; Holographic technology, on this derelict dust ball?
The claptrap extravagantly flourished its robotic arms in the device's general direction, and, sighing, Aguilla pressed his palm to the holographic one.