> Medkit POV.
"Eurghh..."
Medkit's vision blurred in and out. Everything hurt. Everything ached. A nasty cut on his back was being disturbed.
His voice choked out in a hoarse whisper. "Who... who's there?"
"Ya might want to grit yer teeth for this one."
An unfamiliar voice. Some kind of weird accent where the words twanged at the end--Medkit had heard it somewhere but it was too hard to figure out where. He wanted to sleep again, but a hand was suddenly poking a laceration on his forehead and the tiny prickles of warm blood oozed down, making him flinch. Then something was dabbed on the wound and pain flared in the cut.
"Ow." Medkit didn't even have the energy to properly register pain.
"There we go," the voice was very close now. A blurry, milky grey shape hovered over him. "Right. Next one."
Medkit shuffled around, trying to get his brain back in order. Suddenly, events were rushing back. The explosion. The light. A train.
A rotting face.
His eyes shot open, his body bolting upwards into a sitting position, hands flying out in all directions. He coughed and hacked, desperately trying to inhale the air, expanding his lungs to their full capacity so he'd be able to move, even for just a bit.
"Whoa, bucko!" He was being shoved back down again. "Keep yer hands to yourself, you almost took my head off. What's the matter with ya?"
"I don't--I just--I'm just fine," he forced out, stumbling off the bench. The walls were made of stone, like he was in some sort of underground base. He made it a few steps forward, before he keeled over and collapsed in the middle of the room.
"Nice one," the voice sounded disappointed. "Now, come on. Get yerself on that bench there and I'll tend to ya."
"No." Medkit slapped a cold hand to his head and focused his energy, pressing a mental wave onto the bleeding wound. For a moment the skin warmed up, but then it went back to bleeding.
"Tryna' heal yerself ain't gonna do ya much good." The Phighter who'd been speaking sat down on a nearby chair, scratching her chin. The Phighter, adorned with white clothes, a blue undershirt and tie, a robot arm and diamond-patterned slacks, examined him with a close eye. Her other eye was concealed under some sort of gold-painted mechanical contraption which whirred and clicked occasionally. Medkit frowned, rubbing his burning eyes. "How... how did you know I could do that?"
"It's not that hard to tell, bucko." The Phighter grinned toothily, gold glinting on one of her canines. Medkit eyed the gold tooth curiously, finally sitting down and giving his weary legs a rest.
"So, where'd you come from, all battered and beaten like that?" The Phighter jutted out her chin at Medkit's bruised body. "Some mercenaries jump ya on the way home or somethin'?"
Medkit shook his head, feeling his dry throat with his tongue. He half suspected he'd broken a tooth. "No. I... It was just an accident."
"Right then."
Medkit coughed again. "What's your name? What made you want to rescue me?"
The Phighter laughed awkwardly, chuckling out loud. Her hands fiddled with her scarf, giving Medkit a weird twinge telling him it wasn't just any old Phighter he'd just run into.
"Hm. My name's not too much of a good luck charm, bucko."
She took off her hat. "I'm Scythe--most wanted Phighter in Inphinity."
YOU ARE READING
Phighting: TAKEOVER!
ActionScythe hasn't got the prettiest job. As one of the most wanted Phighters in the Inphinity, she's been busy fending off competing criminals and at the same time trying to grow her own base. But some of her Phighters are disappearing. A man has shown...
