Chigurh lets out raspy breaths as he cuts away the fabric of his pants, revealing the blood seeping down his thigh in dark, steady lines. On the bed lie his materials: the scissors, antiseptic, tweezers, lidocaine, syringe, alcohol, knife, and gauze.

The night will be long, and there will be pain. But this is the toll of his work, the cost of the life he carries without hesitation. A necessary price for his trade.