you can no more win a war
The trauma wing of the hospital was more crowded than usual. Apparently, a bombing on planet [insert planet coordinates] had destroyed their largest hospital. This is the First time in almost ten years that he'd ever seen so much pain, so much blood. He couldn't help but grimace at the at the small bruised children that leaned against the hospital walls. Maybe it was their blood-sneakers that really got to him.
His first patient had been a woman in her thirties. A human, apparently. Her arm had been torn open by some sharp object that had come hurtling past her. A nurse had cleaned the gash, but it was doomed to infection unless he took extreme measures. Before he'd even spent a day in the hospital, he gave in.
Like a sensitive hand, he sent his mind into her wound to repair the damage. Drawing on his own health, he gave her the energy needed to produce more of the right cells, faster. He wove the tissues together, attaching them to their appropriate locations. At last, he withdrew, and the woman gasped in relief. All that tugging on her cut had inflamed the area. It must've caused a great deal of pain.
Frank, in his haste, had forgotten to deactivate her nervous pain receptors. Now the pain was gone and all that was left was a pinkish tender-looking scar.
Although the process took no more than 15 seconds, it left Frank exhausted. He had spilled a significant amount of his life-energy into that woman. When the next patient was brought to him, he couldn{t help but continue what he had begun. The girl's shoulder had been broken in several places. A little anesthetic numbing of the area and several crunching noises later, and the girl was all better. After three other people, Frank blacked out. The nurses dragged him onto a bed. Ten minutes and a cup of tea later, he was back at it. That's how it went for hours, until the planet's strange pale-yellow sun set, and another healer came in to take his place
When Frank arrived at the cave, he was exhausted. He threw his bloodstained uniform against the wall, curled up on his makeshift bed, and cried.
-Vincent Van Gogh
His first patient had been a woman in her thirties. A human, apparently. Her arm had been torn open by some sharp object that had come hurtling past her. A nurse had cleaned the gash, but it was doomed to infection unless he took extreme measures. Before he'd even spent a day in the hospital, he gave in.
Like a sensitive hand, he sent his mind into her wound to repair the damage. Drawing on his own health, he gave her the energy needed to produce more of the right cells, faster. He wove the tissues together, attaching them to their appropriate locations. At last, he withdrew, and the woman gasped in relief. All that tugging on her cut had inflamed the area. It must've caused a great deal of pain.
Frank, in his haste, had forgotten to deactivate her nervous pain receptors. Now the pain was gone and all that was left was a pinkish tender-looking scar.
Although the process took no more than 15 seconds, it left Frank exhausted. He had spilled a significant amount of his life-energy into that woman. When the next patient was brought to him, he couldn{t help but continue what he had begun. The girl's shoulder had been broken in several places. A little anesthetic numbing of the area and several crunching noises later, and the girl was all better. After three other people, Frank blacked out. The nurses dragged him onto a bed. Ten minutes and a cup of tea later, he was back at it. That's how it went for hours, until the planet's strange pale-yellow sun set, and another healer came in to take his place
When Frank arrived at the cave, he was exhausted. He threw his bloodstained uniform against the wall, curled up on his makeshift bed, and cried.
-Vincent Van Gogh