In a world torn between heroes and villains, it can be a dangerous and hostile place. Some take comfort in the Gifted that stand up against those who would use their powers for greed and chaos. While others choose to hide away, fearful of the day...
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No EMTs. Where does he get off putting this responsibility on me?
The large metal Gifted lay across the expanse of Elaina's living space, his body sprawled out over her ornate rug. She sighed as she considered the damage his cracked metal suit and bleeding body were doing to the rustic pattern. It was threadbareanyway, she thought. It will finally give me a reason to get a new one.
What was she going to do? How could he leave his survival in her hands? She didn't ask for this and it wasn't fair to her.
Nothing is fair with Gifted, she thought as she popped some aspirin in her mouth and downed a glass of water.
Her body would scream in a day's time. She pushed every muscle to the limit, lifting and hauling the Gifted's heavy weight from the shrapnel of the woods to the entrance of her tiny cabin home. She got him there, though. Not that she knew why she had.
I can at least take off his armor, she thought. I can clean up where needed, tie tourniquets, and maybe even do some stitching.
She collected her first aid kit, which had a substantial collection of medical supplies after her many years of isolation in the woods. Looking at her stash, she wondered if that was why she had this stranger bleeding on her floor despite his Gifted status. She knew what it was like to not want to end up in a hospital. Maybe they had more in common than she gave him credit for.
"So," she said as she knelt down by his feet, "what's your excuse for avoiding the doctors? If you have a suit like this, I'm guessing you're not too worried about the hospital bill." She paused as she drank in the complexities of the various clips and bindings holding his suit together. Had it not been beaten, scarred, and dented, she might not have been able to manage the fastenings. However, with the technology short-circuited and the bindings cracked, it only took a little elbow grease to pry the boots from his feet.
"Well," she said with a snicker of humor in her voice, "not sure what I was expecting, but you wearing a pair of socks with a hole forming around your toe, wasn't it." She glanced over at his helmeted face from the side of her eye. As it was, only his mouth and chin were exposed. A shadow of stubble poked through the layer of blood that caked the small patch of skin that she could see. As she expected, no response answered her playful jest.
"Does it have to do with that helmet of yours?" she speculated while removing his socks, which stuck to his skin thanks to the blood that pooled inside his boots. "Afraid of revealing your identity? I wouldn't want that asshole hounding me at my day job, either. Might I recommend moving out into the woods and avoiding conflict all together." A quick wipe with an alcohol pad revealed no actual cuts from his ankles down, though she saw the early signs of bruising here and there.
She continued her work by removing all the various plates and contraptions strapped to his legs, torso, and arms. Having seen firsthand the rockets that launched from his shoulder padding, she proceeded with caution. All around, she found daggers, needles, and throwing stars hidden in the plating of his armor. She attempted to hurl one at the log walls that supported her loft, but it clanged with dismay upon the floor. She sniffed with disapproval and turned back to her work.
