Obviously, I hadn’t completely forgotten about the gaping hole in my forearm, but blowing both of your eardrums apparently works wonders for a distraction. As soon as Anaideis reminds me, however, it all floods back- and along with the memory, comes the pain.

When I glance down, my arm is dripping crimson; once the fight concluded, I left my new shotgun to dangle limply by my side, and in the seconds since then, the pistol grip has drenched through, and blood drips from the end of the barrel. Uh oh. That’s not good.

Would you mind keeping your hand in the air, Vanguard? The AI asks, smoothly. As long as the wound is kept above your heart, I am happy to report that my calculations indicate you’ll live for almost a full extra minute.

Cold is spreading through me, again. Not the shock from before, this time- though I’ve never experienced it personally, I’m vaguely aware that this chill is my body not having enough blood to keep me warm, or something like that.

In a daze, I follow my guide’s instructions- tuck the blood-soaked shorty under my shield arm, place my throbbing wrist on top of my head, grimacing at the motion. I immediately feel sticky warmth seep into my hair. I guess that’s one way to refresh my highlights, huh?

What was the next thing? Oh, right, the office- I need to get to safety. I can curl up and die in peace, I guess?

I start stumbling up the metal steps. Feeling them vibrate under me but not hearing the clank of my step is weird, and uncomfortable. It reminds me just how helpless I am right now; if something enters the room behind me, I won’t even know until it gets me. Glancing back worriedly, I redouble my pace.

“So, like, am I just going to die now?” I ask, conversationally. I don’t exactly have a first aid kit to hand, so I’m not sure what my ‘AI’ plans to do. She doesn’t seem that worried, at least.

Oh, nothing of the sort. You are a vanguard now. These are still very much mortal wounds, but thankfully ‘mortal’ isn’t an issue for you any longer. With my aid, you can patch yourself up in no time.

I nod, though I stop when the jerking motion jogs my injured arm. Then I’m along the balcony, back at the familiar office door- sans one marble bust. I shove my way through the double doors, and turn, throwing the bolt. There, that should keep out the alien hordes, right?

Very good, Vanguard! I swear, I’m trying very hard not to see this ‘Anaideis’ as patronising, but it’s difficult. Now, to heal your wounds. Would you allow me to guide you in the appropriate point purchases?

“Uhm, yeah, I guess? What points do you mean, exactly?” I ask, blearily suspicious. I swear, if this alien is spending my Amex points on her health potions or whatever, I’m going to be a little mad. I’ve been saving those for ages.

The AI chuckles, just slightly. I hope she didn’t hear that. Why, the fruits of your diligent labour, of course. Your current point total sits at 107, fifty five of which you received for your kills just now. The remainder you can think of as a sort of ‘signing bonus.’

Yeah, I guess that makes sense. If they want me to fight those… things, I’ll need incentive, I suppose. “Okay. So, can I spend those to heal me? Directly, or…?”

Not quite. First of all, I recommend you use fifty points to purchase the Class I Medical Utilities catalog. That will give us access to all of the tools you should need.

I swallow, mouth dry. My head is getting very hazy, and my vision is starting to blur. “Fifty just to unlock the catalog thing? Am I going to have enough to get this stuff?”

Anaideis’ voice turns soothing. Yes, most certainly, do not worry. I have the choices planned out. The catalogs themselves are easily the most expensive part of early purchases for Vanguards. Do I have your consent?

I nod, and hear something like a chime ring.

New Purchase: Class I Medical Utilities unlocked! Point Cost: 50. Points reduced to… 57.

Very good. Now, my analysis of your injuries indicates that the most pressing issue is the ongoing bleeding. The next most pressing is the blood you’ve lost already. Dealing primarily with these, my immediate suggestion would be to purchase a Class I WoundSpray, as well as a Class I Hemo-Restore. Ten points, and five, respectively. Acceptable?

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“I mean, sure? You’d know best?” My head, at this point, is fuzzier than anything else. Even the voice projected directly into my mind is struggling to pierce the haze.

New Purchase: Class I WoundSpray Point Cost: 10. Points reduced to… 47. New Purchase: Class I Hemo-Restore Point Cost: 5. Points reduced to… 42.

At some point, I’ve slumped to the ground, I realize; in front of me, now, sits two small black boxes. Thankfully, they’re open already. I’m not sure I have the mental whateverness to open a box right now.

Please take up the WoundSpray, vanguard, Anaideis says. On your left, she adds helpfully.

I eye it. I’m not sure what I expected, but that looks an awful lot like… A spray can? For a second, I think that she’s fucking with me somehow, but then I clock the name. WoundSpray, right. Makes sense. It’s a Spray to cover wounds, yeah. Well, that, or a spray that causes wounds, but that would be… What was I… What? Oh, right. Spray.

I reach for the can, only smacking myself a tiny bit with the shield on my arm as I go. It’s a very sleek, clinical looking pale-grey bottle- if I was going to use any spray can in a hospital, it’d be this one.

Spray directly into your forearm wound. Close up, between 2-to-4 inches away, please.

Right, okay. I heft the bottle, and pull my arm from my head; it’s still bleeding, no signs of it stopping. My wrist and hand look… Raggedy, and blue-cold.

I close my eyes, bracing for this to sting- and it does, for about half a second, but then it’s like a balm, like aloe vera applied to sunburnt skin. I keep my finger on the button anyway, until Anaideis tells me to stop. Only then, do I open one eye, gingerly.

Well, it looks… Better? My fingers are no less bloody and blue, and the surface is all mottled and weird, but. There’s no hole left, at least.

Instead, whatever was in that can, it seems to have congealed on my forearm, compressing and pushing up into the wound, and it’s turning the color of skin. For a given definition of skin, at least- it looks waxy and pallid, and when I poke it, the texture is… Plastic-y.

It’s synthetic, vanguard. The veins and arteries have been patched up as well, though it’s not complex enough to fix the damage to your musculature and so on. Still, it will act as skin and blood vessels for now, and it will encourage your body to repair and replace it with real flesh before this rough mimicry causes any major issues.

I stare, with a touch of wonder, at the medical miracle in front of me. Even with limitations like that, the technology to just… jury-rig repairs to a wound like that, in seconds. I had a vague awareness that the ‘Protectors’ and their vanguards had access to some pretty outlandish things. That a lot of the new leaps we’d made in the last half-decade or so were deconstructions of things they’d passed on to us. But to see it, literally, in front of me like this, was another matter entirely.

I’m not religious, as such. I consider myself more of a humanist. But I could suddenly see why, for some, these beings descending on us felt like the touch of God. It was enough to fill me with awe; awe, and uncertainty.

If this is what they had access to, what could they want with me?

The AI’s voice interrupts my musings. Your vitals are still unstable, Vanguard. I would suggest you apply the Hemo-Restore as quickly as possible, so that it can begin the multi-hour process of fabricating additional blood for you.

I reach out for the second box, hesitantly, but the motion makes my body shift a little, and it’s like I’m thrown off-kilter as the room spins around me. Woah, fuck, I think, trying to blink it away enough to focus on the thing I’m now holding.

It looks… Well, the closest I can think of is like an epipen, those little plastic tube thingies that I have always hated. They contain a sort of spring loaded little needle, one which should only fire once you press it up against your skin; one of my old buddies had one, and he showed me how to handle it safely, without stabbing yourself.

That’s the only comparison I could think of, really, but this thing? It’s the size of a flashlight, the big ol’ chunky ones from last century.

We modeled the design for it on similar Earth medical devices, to ensure easy application and promote comfort through familiarity, Anaideis adds, helpfully. I still can’t tell if she’s mocking me, or if they really are that bad at human culture.

“And is the needle to scale?” I ask, dryly. I still very much hope the answer is no.

Oh, no, she assures me helpfully, because, you see, this does not actually contain a needle at all. After the initial puncture, a semi-autonomous drone-scope will burrow on a direct course to your nearest artery, where they will secrete the extra blood the unit will produce over the next few hours. Does that help?

My mouth has gone completely dry. I try to speak anyway, choking a little. “Anaideis? I think… Perhaps you should think twice about explaining this one to folks in future.”

Okay! My business-perky companion offers. I shall make a memo with your feedback! In the meantime, please press the Hemo-Restore firmly against your abdomen. The leech-scope will do the rest!

Okay, she’s definitely fucking with me at this point, right?