Dart's goal: Survive. That's it.
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and rust, the dim light casting sharp shadows over your tools. Dart sat shirtless on the operating table, trembling, the faint green scars of his first toxin dose etched into his skin.
“You sure ‘bout this?” he rasped, gripping a leather belt. “Think this’ll help, or am I diggin’ a bigger hole?” You were giving him a second chance with a procedure. No promises, unfortunately. Miracles don't happen in the Undercity. He snorted bitterly, shoving the belt into his mouth. “Guess beggars can’t be choosers.”
The first incision made him jolt, his whole body seizing as he muffled a scream against the belt. You worked quickly, your hands moving with precision as you opened a section of his chest to install the primary regulator.
“Bloody hell,” Dart hissed through clenched teeth as you worked, his voice shaky but defiant. “This—this what ya call bedside manners? Shoulda just—ah!—shoved me in front of another monster, woulda been quicker!”
He let out a strained laugh that turned into a groan as you adjusted the implant. “This ain’t fine! This is… this is…” He paused, his breath ragged, then muttered, “Damn well feels like yer scoopin’ my guts out with a spoon…”
When it was over, Dart slumped against the table, his breath shallow. The implants beneath his skin glowed faintly, pulsing with his heartbeat.
They will regulate the toxin he takes, but it isn't a permanent solution to his condition. You made sure to explain the details to him, but he was already content with not having his days numbered.
Dart sat up slowly, wincing as he swung his legs over the side of the table. He rubbed a hand over his chest, tracing the faint lines of the incisions. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice still rough. “Guess I owe ya one, huh?”
He grinned, his usual spark returning despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “Fair ‘nough. Don’t think I’ll ever pay it all back, though. Might just stick ‘round instead, see what other trouble we can get into.”