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Mike "Splinter" Harris

Splinter at work.

Unconcerned by the blood and tissue fragments collecting on his fingertips and clothing Splinter runs his hands gently over Forbes’s wounds silently he examines the craters of torn flesh, calling gently to Sam he issues instructions that will start her surgical and trauma routines, with a sigh of relief Splinter thinks how lucky it was he updated her kinetic injury treatment programmers when he discovered an Auto RAM Launcher had been bought aboard. Without need of ego Splinter is comfortable allowing the higher skilled robot to work on his injured passenger, he is satisfied to simply assist where required.

The med-bay air filters chug gently in the background drawing away the hot copper smell of blood, detritus builds up on the floor as used blood packs and saline bags litter its’ white surface like fallen leaves, red/white mounds of discarded pressure bandages and swabs form drifts against the base of the operating table, as one of Sam’s secondary arms reaches down to start to clear away some of the soiled wrappings piled against her motive skirts Splinter lightly slaps it back towards the table, where Forbes’s body fights bravely against the damage inflicted upon it.

Sam’s surgical manipulators flash and dart in and around Forbes’s body, directed by diagnostic and anatomical software they evaluate, stitch, close and retest as she repairs, replaces and bypasses damaged tissues and organs. As the hours pass fatigue starts to press heavy on Splinter, his hair is plastered down with perspiration, his movements are becoming slower, jerky and less confident, and several times as he’s moved around the table his feet have slipped leaving bloody smears upon the white floor tiles. Hunchbacked he stubbornly continues to work upon the injured man; the muscles in his neck are corded and cramped whilst his hands are curling painfully into claws. At last breaking through his fatigue haze for a few moments he recognizes his failing strength and turns away from the slab long enough to reach for a bottle of pale yellow discs, removing two with blood wet gloves he dry swallows them and returns to his duties
 
Labor's reward

As fast as Sam is at locating and removing the clusters of needle rounds that peppered Forbes’s back, it is still taking far too long to stabilize and treat him, Splinter fights on stubbornly keeping the man’s heart beating, refilling his arteries with blood and fluids at a rate to match their leaking and forcing air into those fluids via the tattered sacks that are all that remain of the patient’s lungs. Splinter curses the cruelty of such a modern weapon, unlike a larger slower slug which most likely would have caused a straight through and through wound the gauss rounds have scattered and tumbled with the victim’s body, riddling his chest cavity with many small traumas! Despite the elevated dopamine levels he presently feels as a result of his methamphetamine high Splinter is reaching the terminus of his physical limits, as once again he narrowly prevents Forbes’s battered physiology from shutting down he starts to crack, tears stream from his eyes and his body starts shaking uncontrollably, staggering blindly backwards away from operating table he pulls open a tier of draws finding more by memory and feel than by sight what he requires in the bottom draw, quickly he rips open the wrapping and stabs the one shot hypo into his thigh!

After a further hour of exhausting labor, at least for the biological Splinter, Sam and the Doc manage to repair, elevate and stabilize Forbes’s life functions to a point where they will gently continue without constant intervention. Sedating him heavily to aid healing they allow him to slip into a light coma. Leaving Sam to watch over their charge Splinter heads for the supply room and returns with cleaning materials, filling a bucket with boiling water he begins to clean away the debris of his most recent battle with death. Hearing the sounds of mopping Manuel and Roman silently approach the bloody med-bay, Splinter gently fends them away and continues cleaning until he is satisfied with the state of the ships medical facilities. Making one final check on Sam’s monitoring of Forbes he dictates a report for the rest of the crew then retreats to his stateroom, where despite his burnt out state he takes time to tape around the door seals before collapsing onto his bunk. Anyone passing in the night can’t help but overhear sobbing from within his room.
 
Good grief snapshot your putting the poor old Doc through the ringers and no mistake, planning on having him take Sarge's shuttel off ship?:devil:
 
don't start laughing

Glad to see things haven't got any lighter since Sarge topped himself, keep up the suspense: we know he's gonna crack, just waiting for the when, where and how!
 
See the campaign is still going strong on the portal and that you've aquired some more crew mates. But how will the jailbreakers survive within the Imperium? Also when are you gonna post some more videos you lazy sod!!!
 
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