"Nobody can hurt me without my permission." - Attributed to Saint Condi.
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"Taldeer." The pain didn't stop him from rolling his head to the right.
Breathing. Still asleep. The sensation of touch. He glanced at his hand, wrapped in hers.
She fidgeted in her sleep - nervous, anxious actions. But she was alive. This was a source of relief. His hand never left hers as he took in the situation.
The room was cold. His mouth tasted like blood. He was hydrated but hungry. There was a sheet on his chest, wrapped tightly. And the left side of his torso was experiencing pain. Immense pain.
"Have to treat the wound."
The Vindicare Dictum taught that pain was nothing more than a trick of the mind - a psychosomatic sensation not dependent on nociceptors, but instead felt when the mind wanted, where the mind decided, and fabricated wholly within the brain itself. Pain can vanish during mentally stimulating activity, or never appear if one is unaware of the damage. It can seem smaller or larger if the injured area is viewed through a magnifying lens. The brain may perceive pain within itself, a headache, despite having it no nociceptors - the brain confers the sensation onto a region of the body.
Pain is a choice.
So it was that as the Vindicare slowly sat upright and hesitantly let go of the primary's hand, he chose not to feel the pain. While he undid the impromptu bandage with his right arm, he ignored the sensation which screamed in his ear. When he examined the cut that split his pectoral in half, and the broken rib that lay beneath it, he did not fall prey to the delusion that gnawed at his inflexible iron mind.
Laceration. Deep. Left-arm useless. Need to irrigate the wound. Need to warm room.
He fumbled through the medical kit. Syringe. Where? Need clean water. Stitches. Dressing.
The kit had all of the necessities supplied. He pulled the silver bag of water from it and twisted the cap at the top, to which the syringe head attached neatly.
Memories of last night were hazy, but even now the bandage smelled faintly of alcohol. Excessive application likely to slow healing, he thought to himself, as he sprayed water into the wound.
Preferable to infection. The cold water ran down his abdominals, chilling him even further.
72 hours.
The Dictum Vindicare taught basic medical procedures. Treatments for dealing with immediate medical problems, in hopes of surviving long enough to complete the mission. And hopefully to survive afterwards if provided with medical attention. Cleaning and stitching the wound were only one first of the paths to survival.
The second was daily dressing and antibacterial treatment of the wound. The third was mission completion and retrieval. If no serious damage was incurred, then with standard Imperial medical supplies, the Vindicare could expect 72 hours of operational time before the untreated wound would cause sufficient permanent muscle damage to require the addition of cybernetics to restore full functionality.
In silence he stitched it shut, first reattaching the muscle, then closing the wound and applying an antibacterial dressing.
The simple act of breathing was still monumentally painful.
Limited functionality restored. Will have to shoot from the right. Cannot rest on left side. Run risk of lung puncture."
His stomach growled. The silvery water pack reminded him of his nutrient pouches. "Food."
YOU ARE READING
Love Can Bloom - The Complete Edition: A Warhammer 40K Heretical Fanfiction
Fanfiction"One or a thousand, I will kill them all." That is the code the Vindicare assassin LII.VI/52.6 follows in service to the Offico Assassinorum of the Imperium of Man. Sent to kill a young Eldar Farseer named Taldeer, who is wounded from a battle on t...
