1st Street

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

A street in the Port. Rumored to house a black market surgeon.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Malcolm arrived at 1st Street, feeling significantly worse for wear. He looked around, trying to determine the best place to find the surgeon he had been sent for. He hoped this wasn't a wild goose chase, some practical joke. His body couldn't afford the trek back to the camp:

[The Stranger]

He saw a small shingle, with a Red Cross painted over it, which had a feeling like it was the right place.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

He made his way inside, grunting with each step from the exertion. Crimson drops of blood trailed behind him to form a type of morbid trail.

[The Stranger]

When he reached the door, and older man with greying hair at the temples spotted him, and swiftly flung open the door, and caught him at the shoulder, before laying him on his back.

"My god" he said, cutting Malcom's shirt off without so much as a "by your leave."

"You've a heavily modified spinal system?" he asked.

Malcom noticed the bottle of whisky in the man's hand for the first time.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

"Reinforced" Malcolm replied weakly, dizzy from the blood loss. Drunk or not, the doctor knew his cyberware at least. "I hear it's bad luck to drink alone, doc."

[The Stranger]

"No doubt," The doctor replied, making no effort to offer Malcom any. "It saved your life though. You'd be deader than a post without it." he touched the shrapnel ever so briefly, which sent a shockwave of pain through Malcom's back.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Malcolm gritted his teeth, eyes momentarily wild like an animal from the pain. "Forgive me if I don't jump for joy. Just get it the frag out of me!"

[The Stranger]

"That's the difficulty. Gonna be a major operation." He said, "You afford it, or got friends who can?"

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

"Doesn't seem to me like I have much choice!" Malcolm growled. "How about we discuss the bill after I'm no longer bleeding out on your floor?"

[The Stranger]

"Cause I'm not sure you're gonna live to discuss it afterwards," the doctor replied, taking another sip of whisky, and then injecting Malcom with something. The world seemed very light and fluffy for a moment, and than Malcom went out.

//////////////////////////

He awoke, on his stomach, in the middle of a bed. He tried to move and felt restraints on his arms and legs.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Malcolm looked around to get his bearings, his memory foggy from the drugs.

"How'd it go, doc?" he mumbled groggily.

[The Stranger]

"Well, you're alive," The doctor replied. "You might find things a little buggy with your hardware. I had to do a lot of jury-rigging to keep everything in place. But if you run into trouble, let me know. As for recover. I've got you dosed to the gills on pain-meds." He handed Malcom a small applicator. "It's all internal. Just press 1 for less, and 2 for more." he said. "

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

"Define buggy." Malcolm said in a dark tone, snatching the applicator out of the doctor's hand. That hardware was his profession, worth more to him than anything. "And what's the bill?"

[The Stranger]

"Buggy, not functioning entirely up to spec," the doc replied. "Mostly having to do with the neural connectors to the servos that deploy... Whatever that is. As for bill, we're looking at 5K even."