Mars had not hesitated a second - not in coming there and not in dragging the boy up from the water.He hadn't even stopped to ask Luna a single question as he carried the boy out the door and hurried him to the one remaining med bay in the station.
She had, of course, followed close behind him, and had kept her kelp knife ready in her hand.
Though considerably famished, her uncle displayed his impressive strength by carrying the angel in his arms- flailing his long hair behind him as he led Luna into the dark interior of the bay.
“Shut the door - don’t call anyone.” He spoke in a manner she had never heard before. It was not the voice he'd brandish as he usually spoke to her - this one was distinctly different, as if he was profoundly concentrated... perhaps even worried. .
There was little else in the bay, save for a metallic surgical bench in the middle of the chamber; a bench surrounded by the System’s most ancient, mysterious devices. Thankfully, Luna’s grandfather had been a skilled medicinarian and had passed his knowledge down to his sons as best he could. Mars had, like her father, stitched up the scav-team more times than she imagined they could count, but something was different about him this time- it was in his low brow, his voice and his raised shoulders. It was as if he knew already that this… this would be a challenge. But if there was one thing that motivated a child of Logos, it was a challenge.
Mars’ hands moved with unrivaled speeds under the bright, white light. The angel’s pale skin lay lifeless atop the metal table, but every now and then, her uncle would touch a hand to his neck and nod affirmingly in between his swift, multi-layered stitching. Luna realized about half-way through the procedure that her mouth had not stopped moving, repeating the story over and over and despite its insanity, But even throughout what she'd come to consider a recount of raving madness, Mars continued his work, only pausing to raise an eyebrow as she told of the half-eaten shark.
When the final stitch had been made, he put his hands atop the table next to the still boy and wiped his forehead, finally eyeing their guest's features in full for the first time. He might as well have been one of their own; just as famished, pale and lightly built as any other man in his late teens. But something about him was... off... Mars had sensed it as he worked the flesh. He had felt it in his skin, as if it writhed against the needle and if he hadn't known better, he'd have said that the canvas of his work - the boy's cutis - was working with him. Most disturbingly, the tooth removed from his chest had nearly refused to let go, as if it had already been embedded in his muscles… He'd picked enough foreign objects out of skin to know that sensation, but that was a phenomenon that would take days, weeks or months - not hours. But in an effort not to jostle his already worked-up niece, he steadied himself in an attempt to calm down and met her gaze.
Her red eyes were bagged with exhaustion, her cheeks more gaunt than ever and she had lost her hairband at some point, leaving her long, similarly dark-blonde hair hanging over her shoulders. In the reflection of the metal bench, their familiar similarity had never been as uncanny as when they frowned down at the stranger.
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“Y-you must think I’m crazy…” She finally said as she took a step forwards to look at the young man on the bench. HIs smooth skin already looked better, now that the wounds had all been closed. Mars took note of the knife in her hands and drew his aching hand over his face - brushing back his lengthy hair with a bemused shake of his head. “I’d say it’s crazy that this boy is still alive. I’d say it’s crazy that he was bitten to the bone by a shark and hasn’t bled a drop of it since here… but I wouldn’t say you were crazy.” Her lip trembled as she met his calm, dark eyes.
She stepped around the table and quickly wrapped her arms around her uncle, weeping a few silent tears, allowing him to continue: “This boy… he saved your life, you say? Even with all the craziness, he saved your life, yes?” He felt her nod jerk against his white silken shirt. Another moment’s silence ensued before he grabbed her by the shoulder to push her back and look into her puffy, red eyes and said: “I’m grateful for that. But that red shit - those strings… the wings… it sounds like Monstrum-stuff. Seeing as we’re both still alive, I’m assuming he’s not… but we still need to investigate that. He’s not a regular person, that’s for sure.” She pressed back into her uncle’s chest and muttered: “H-how c-can you tell? H-he looks so… normal now… as if it was all in my head…”
Mars reached over her shoulder and calmly spun her around to watch as he dragged down the boy’s lower eyelid - revealing the stranger’s red eyes; the sign of the Logoruum.
“Look at the red inside his lower eyelid. If you’re low on blood, that turns lighter. It was almost white when he got in here, but it’s almost normal now… it’s like he’s replaced the missing blood already.” Which seemed to remind him of something…
He pressed his niece away and bent down to look into the boy’s eyes with a keen intent, nearly touching their noses as he studied their patient. “I heard the Tainted have the Hellspawn in their eyes, but it looks normal to me… it’s how they used to tell if someone had it… They’d look at the eyes.” She thought back to her many books, remembering that segment of their ancient history. He rose up and turned around - headed for the metallic cabinets lining the far wall, searching for something, mumbling to himself.
“Fire and heat - that’s another way to check… if he’s Tainted, he should explode…” He reached inside the top cabinet and brought out a small, white implement; one she might’ve considered for writing, at least until she saw the loop at the end.
He pressed a button on the side and they both watched the tip turn red-hot before he jabbed it into the boy’s chest, just over his right nipple. The stranger writhed and groaned hoarsely, but did not explode… not literally.
Instead, he flopped of the table and fell to the metal floor with a thud, revealing that he still had bites to tend to on his back. But more unusually, he had two small, circular wounds just below his shoulderblades; where his wings had protruded from. Had Luna not been so terrified, she might’ve taken a measure of solace in the knowing that she was not as insane as she thought, but with the situation as it was, she instead yelped and held the kelp-knife up in front of her.
The boy got to his fours and proceeded to expel two lungfuls of bloody, salty water to the floor, groaning with agony and discomfort in between his desperate heaves for air. They watched him for several minutes as he struggled to orient himself, slamming helplessly into his regurgitated mess several times over while tearing Mars’ careful stitches, speaking his first, hoarse words. “Fuck…”