Revival

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

“Ah, you’re awake. That’s a relief.”

The gunslinger opened his eyes slowly at first, only to slam them shut as excruciating light burned his corneas. His face contorted in anguish, throwing an arm over his face to shield his throbbing optics.

“Oh, apologies,” came a gentle-sounding voice. “I’m so used to it that I didn’t realize.” 

A few seconds later Vincent noticed the light streaming through his tightly-shut eyelids dim somewhat, indicating that whomever was hidden behind the light had taken pity on him and decreased the intensity. “...Thanks,” he offered, withdrawing his arm. 

“Not to worry my boy. In fact, I owe you an apology for not thinking of my patient,” the voice replied, the timbre of a calm, older gentleman. Vincent heard a chuckle followed by clinking as the man fiddled with his tools.

Adrenaline spiking in his veins, the gunslinger sat bolt-upright, crimson irises focusing on the now somewhat alarmed man at the foot of his cot. He looked to be in his late sixties, bald in all but the sides of his head. He wore a pair of thick spectacles that hung dangerously close to the tip of his nose. In the man’s right hand was a bloody scalpel, matching the discolored rag in his other. Vincent's head pounded as he sized up the elder, taking note of the plethora of used medical supllies on various rolling tables around his cot. The Prime was uncertain what the mad scientist was planning, but he wasn’t about to wait around for yet another experiment to be performed on him against his will. “Don’t,” Vincent nearly growled, locking his eyes in the man.

“Don’t...what?” the man replied nervously, his shaking hands allowing the scalpel to fall loose from his grip and clatter to the floor.

“Back away,” Vincent commanded, fumbling clumsily for something sharp from the table nearest him. The best he could find was a small pair of scissors, which he held overhead as if it were a dagger.

“I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong my boy,” the man said, fear evident in his voice. He displayed his empty palms to the Prime. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve already done everything I needed.” He pointed with one hand at a small steel bowl on one of the carts parallel to Vincent’s cot. “Take a look.”

The gunslinger furrowed his brow, glaring at the man for a moment before stealing a gaze down at the container. Inside, he spied a half dozen metal slugs, misshapen, but unmistakeable. It was at that exact moment that Vincent noticed the thick layer of gauze taped to his back, along with the several halos of pain that dotted his back. “You...pulled them out?”

“I saw you fall out 3 stories,” the man replied, relaxing somewhat as the pale Prime lowered his shears. “You had a heartbeat, so I got you here as fast as I could and got to work. You’re a Prime, aren’t you? An average Joe wouldn’t have survived that.”

Vincent nodded, running a hand behind his back and over his bandaged wounds. “You found me?”

“I wouldn’t say that I found you so much as I watched you find the ground,” the man answered, with the faintest hint of a smile. “My name is Jack Fabre.”

“Vincent Valentine,” the gunslinger responded, placing the dirty scissors back on their tray. “Am I in Coruscant?”

“Technically you are,” Fabre replied. “Though I would hardly call a dog’s arsehole the dog. We’re on Tier 6.”

The explanation meant little to the Prime. “Those suited men, did they follow you?”

“Not a one,” the elder replied, scooping his scalpel from the floor and depositing it in a nearby sink. “Which is good, as the Empire doesn’t even bother to send patrols down to this tier anymore. It took me quite a while to lug your body back here, so they’d have had plenty of opportunities to strike.” He smiled weakly, “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

The ex-Turk nodded, content with the man’s answer. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m no doctor my boy. At least, not anymore. My office here isn’t the most…legal place to get sewn up.” Jack chuckled, gathering up the rest of his miscellaneous implements. 

Vincent cocked an eyebrow for a moment before dismissing the notion; he didn’t want to know what the man was implying. “I have to go,” he said after a moment. Though his stomach still churned, pain bounced up and down his spine like a superball and he wasn’t sure he even had enough blood left to move his limbs, he had to move.

“Not right now you don’t,” Fabre said, pushing the Prime back onto the cot. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Just take another nap and let your natural Prime powers work their magic,” he said finished with a wink. “I am glad that you’re getting better, though. All the talking in your sleep was worrying me.”

“Talking?” Vincent repeated, relenting and allowing his head to rest upon the thin mattress. The idea of rest was pretty inviting.

“Yes. You kept repeating your own name and the phrase ‘Help Me’, over and over. It was very concerning.”

The ex-Turk felt his heart begin to race. “Anything else?”

Fabre looked up from organizing his toolkit. “Not really. Just something about the Dataverse?”