It took hours.

  Minutes.

  Days.

  He wasn’t entirely sure.

  Time meant nothing to him anymore.

  He first saw a flickering light in the distance.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Then he saw the actual thing.

  It was a behemoth. Made of equal parts iron, wood, blood and sweat. This was the Armanjyk North Base. The most isolated outpost of the resistance.

  He stumbled in, half dead.

  The one guard still on duty took one look at him and shooed him inside. Maybe someone in this godforsaken hellhole recognised him.

  Most likely not.

  He quietly ran to the medic.

  He didn’t want to be asked what had happened to him by any of the others. It would be unnecessary interaction.

  The medical chamber of the North Base was, to put it lightly - horrible. There had been so many people who stumbled in there, half dead, that the room had the musk of rotting flesh, quite unlike the smell of boiled potatoes in the rest of the camp.

  Cassian was half sure that if he even looked at one of the beds he would catch some deadly plague.

  He hobbled on to a waiting chair. It was sticky. But the rest had blood on them, and a finger or two.

  The medic was a kindly old man. Who knows how old.

  He had seen a large part of the war, and had fought many a battle.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Now he looked more likely to sit and offer you a tea than to tear your arm off.

  “Arm, is it?” the medic said.

  It was a quiet day at the medical chamber. Cassian was a bit uncomfortable because of that. But at least he would get attention quicker.

  “I can’t move it” Cassian replied.

  “Good. If you can’t feel anything, makes my job of stitching it up easier”

  The medic reached for a rusted tray that would give you tetanus if it even came close to a wound. He picked up a needle.

  “Ok, unwrap your coat sleeve. I’m guessing that the red stain on it is your blood.”

  Cassian removed his makeshift tourniquet. The bleeding had at least stopped.

  The medic let out a whistle as he saw the wound.

  “That… is not good. Let me guess, large black things with long legs? One of them got a claw into you?”

  “Ummm.. Yes, exactly” replied Cassian.

  “Yep, you just encountered some Umbarae. They can pull your life force out with a claw. Sometimes while hunting they take their juveniles with them. It gives the kids some training.”

  “Well, that explains why I’m still alive…” Thank…whatever that they saw me as weak

  “But why didn’t they, well, chase after me?” asked Cassian

  “They must have gotten something else to eat… you weren’t alone, were you? I wouldn’t put it past… upper management to send you out on you own.”

  “No… squad of six. General recon. I… didn’t see them again.”

  “Huh” the medic replied, “Then you’re lucky. If you were alone, you would be dead. Anyways… enough talking about your feelings, I’m going to put some stitches into you… should help it heal faster. Are you absolutely sure that you can’t feel anything?”

  “Yes”, Cassian replied, “unfortunately”

  The skin around the wound had faded to a sickening purple hue.

  The medic prodded at it with the blunt end of his tweezers. “Hmph,” he grunted. “No rot yet. That’s good. But your veins look like they’ve been inked by a dying scribe.”

  Cassian didn’t respond. He just stared at the ceiling. Flaking wood. Smoke stains. A gouge from what looked like a thrown axe.

  The medic took a cloth and poured a foul smelling liquid on it. “This will help prevent any infections”, he explained.

  Cassian prepared himself for the cold when the cloth touched his skin. He felt nothing.

  The needle went in. He didn’t flinch. Couldn’t.

  “Still nothing?” the medic asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, makes my work easier.” He began stitching. “Might never get proper use of this again. Depends on how much they took from you.”

  Cassian shrugged with his good shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

  The medic snorted. “That’s the spirit. Keep that attitude and they might give you a promotion someday.”

  After a few minutes of… well nothing but sewing, the medic sent him on his way.

  He knew he had to stay in camp for a while, and get some rest. And then, he’d have to go out again.