Two Mercs: Part Twelve

With a pained thud Dave landed on the wooden platform blocking an elevator shaft, glancing up at the hole he'd made in the wood hiding the shaft. Emily's face looked down from through the ragged hole, her expression halfway between amusement and concern, and she gracefully slipped down to the platform, dangling from the edge of the hole for a second before letting go. Her drop from the up-city ground level of the Enfield office building onto the platform was therefore shorter than Dave's, her landing also smoother than her companion's, and she crossed to the segment of the platform sticking out of the shaft, looking down into the depths of the hollow tower.
"How do we get down?" Dave went to stand when Emily spoke before he buckled, dropping back to the platform and clutching his side with a groan. "Dave?"
His hand seemed to be a shiny black, although in normal lighting it would be stained a deep red, when he removed it from the right side of his chest and he swore.
"That bastard must have put bullets in more than just my arm." Emily went to start removing Dave's jacket and shirt so that they could check the injuries before pausing when he shook his head. "We don't have time for this."
"You're wounded!"
"I'll live until we can get to a clinic."
Emily looked dubiously at Dave, a hand still on his jacket's right sleeve, before she shrugged and took a step back, looking again into the depths.
"So how do we get down then?"

The way down had turned out to a series of ladders that linked numerous platforms within the scaffolding framework wrapped around a support column. Dave had lifted a hatch set into the platform they'd initially descended onto, exposing the ladder attached to the column, gesturing for Emily to go down first. They rapidly dropped down through the levels but their pace slowed as they neared the bottom, Dave's injuries having more impact upon him. Climbing down from the final platform, stepping onto the thick layer of dust coating the ground floor, Emily turned to help Dave, staggering under his weight as he almost fell from the ladder.
"We're going to a clinic now. I'm not having you in my van until you've been properly looked at."
"Fine."
Dave groaned in acceptance and leant on Emily as they used the maintenance access to exit into the low-city. Debris from the wreckage of the Sentinel Aegis factory, and debris from other buildings damaged by its destruction, littered the streets, teams of paramedics already on the scene. Metallics were also visible, keeping order with brutal but precise application of force, and Emily guided Dave away from the gangsters, heading for a parked van marked with the NHS logo. The paramedic in the van's driver seat hurried from the vehicle when he spotted the two mercenaries, glancing at Emily with questions on his face.
"He's been shot. Three in the left arm and at least once in the torso."

The ambulance was running low on supplies but it had enough to stabilise Dave and get his injuries properly bandaged. Rising from the thin mattress in the back of the ambulance Dave took hold of his jacket when Emily extended it towards him, wincing as he shrugged into it.
"Thanks."
The paramedic glanced at the pair before quickly scribbling out a note and then pulling a small business card from a pocket, handing both to Emily.
"I've done what I can but admittedly that isn't much. That's the card for a nearby mod-surgery that should be able to do more. The note is what I recommend he gets."
Emily glanced at the text on the business card before tucking the piece of stiff paper into a trouser pocket, joining the paramedic in glancing down the street at the sound of gunfire.
"Thank you." Letting Dave lean against her again she began walking away from the ambulance. "Come on. Sounds like it's time to put some more metal in you."

---

The mod-surgery was tucked away inside the support building for an up-city tower. Spread out over the entire footprint of the building the mod-surgery was running off a pair of generators, meaning that they were unaffected by the chaos created by Emily's trawlers, and was fully-staffed, its waiting area filled by people sent there by NHS staff. A receptionist glanced up from the magazine she was reading, a smile appearing on her face when she looked at Dave's bare chest.
"What can I do for you?"
Emily rolled her eyes at the receptionist's behaviour and moved to stand in front of her companion, retrieving the note written by the paramedic.
"A left arm transplant and an artificial lung."
The receptionist leant around Emily, assessing Dave's bandages before smirking at him, and quickly typed out a long note onto a tablet.
"I assume the NHS sent you here?" Emily nodded and the receptionist rolled her chair towards a hole in the wall behind her, placing the tablet on the sill. "Take a seat somewhere. The doctor will call for you when he's free."

Eventually the mod-surgery's doctor appeared in the doorway to the left of the reception desk, calling out for whoever had ordered a new arm and lung. Standing Dave walked across the waiting area, disappearing into the operating theatre. Emily stayed where she was, recognising that Dave probably wanted to make the transition to being a cyborg privately. The sounds of a revving blade echoed throughout the mod-surgery, the noise startling nobody but Emily, and she rose from her seat, moving to the reception desk.
"Don't this place have any sound-proofing?"
The receptionist glanced at Emily, taking in her clothing and appearance.
"You aren't a local? Or maybe you're a up-city dweller just slumming it for kicks?" Emily just blinked in confusion and the receptionist sighed in irritation. "Metallics use the local mod-surgeries as almost everything you can think of. It's because of them that no mod-surgery in Watford has sound-proofing."