Working without much sleep wasn't uncommon for Dr. Faraday, even before the fall of mankind. Earlier on in her career, she had worked tirelessly before she had her own practice, then things calmed down, although not by much. Being in charge might have been a dream for many, but for her, it felt like an unneeded complication. Practicing was her passion, not managing receptionists, nurses, and dealing with supplies. Little did she know how valuable those skills would be after the bombs dropped, after that comfortable life and career that she had built was smoldering ashes.

Horrors in that post-humanity era were around every corner. They never ended. Branch Tower was supposed to be the end-of-the-line, although she had always expected it not to even exist. Perhaps it would have been better if it hadn't existed, if the lack of an oasis had disappointed the caravan in the middle of the wasteland, yet it was real and it was the end for most of them. The fresh horror, though, was the men that she was tending to. Their injuries were all fatal. This was simply comfort care, although there were enough painkillers to put them to sleep and let them at least go quietly. In fact, it took aback her by how much morphine there was.

It was almost like he prepared for the world to fall apart. Then again, it was mostly his fault. The undead were from his program and the nukes were from his tests in Kharkiv, where a few of the subjects escaped, triggering the first outbreak. Everything after that was a blur, everything that is, except for these men and their strange, animalistic wounds. They looked like they were mauled. Stuart was shy about giving details, but it was clear from that... that beast that they saw in the arena the night before. No human had inflicted those injuries.

"Doc," Stuart approached her, "Handsome Bill needs ya ta look over the boys before tonight."

"What about these men?"

"Ya done the best for 'em, more than any of us coulda. They got morphine, that's the best they can expect."

"I'm not a surgeon, I can't save any of them, I just..."

"Nobody was askin' ya to."

With that, he led her to an area off to the side behind a chainlink fence wrapped in barbed wire. There was a giant chain and lock on the door and two guards stood there. When they saw Stuart approaching, they unlocked it and swung the door open for him, Stuart letting her go in before him. It was simply a continuation of the parking structure, but filled with men in ill-fitting armor mulling about. These must be the competitors for Branch's archaic games. Stuart led her to a large bald man in a pair of tight overalls with a clipboard.

"Ah Stuart, my boy," he slapped Stuart on the back, Stuart cringing and holding back a curse. "Who ya got with ya? This one ain't for the arena, eh?"

"Nah, she's a doc. She can help patch up these boys before they head out there."

"Fuck me, finally some help down here? I'm Handsome Bill and I care for all of these scoundrels before they entertain you lot."

"I'm Dr. Faraday, a pleasure, I'm sure."

"Listen to her!" He laughed. "All proper and whatnot, she new or what?"

"Fresh in off the boat," Stuart said. "Bill, you take care'v this'un, ya hear me?"

"Aye aye aye," he spat. "Won't let any of these mangy mutts get their paws on her, just fuck off already."

"Fuck you, Bill," Stuart said, although she wasn't able to tell if they were joking or not anymore. The animosity seemed real, although laced with begrudging respect. With that, he stomped off, leaving her with this mountain of a man and his clipboard.

"Just the two of us then, ain't it? I s'pose ya should start checkin' the boys out."

"Where are your medical supplies?"

"Over here behind me, we've got the medical closet. I'll send 'em in if they need watchin', but it'll mostly be after the fights. Feel free 'ta walk around and see who needs what. I gotta lotta prep for tonight."

She settled into the closet, doing a quick inventory of what was in there. Essentially, it was just the basics; painkillers, bandages, wraps, a few crude tools, and some rubbing alcohol for sterilization. For a place that was supposed to be the brightest hope for humanity, where Branch was conducting top-secret, mankind-saving experiments, he sure didn't share most of his medical supplies. Not all men were worth saving, which hit her harder than she thought that it would. She had known that since the moment that Branch's goons assaulted the convoy, but there was still that strange flicker of hope for humanity burning inside of her.

These tools weren't to save lives, they were stopgaps to keep someone from immediately bleeding out. There were no signs of anticoagulants, antibiotics or anything that she'd really need to treat what would be gruesome injuries, just like those guards that she had simply provided minimal comfort care to. The look on that boy's face—Stuart—told the total story. A part of him thought that she'd be able to work some sort of miracle for those men, to save them with the crude tools at her disposal, only to let them die.

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The battles outside had begun. That much was clear from the booming sounds that shook the entire structure. The ebb and flow of the crowd made her stomach churn. Those boys that she had walked by before—the ones in the crude armor with the makeshift weapons—they were the ones out there, and they were killing each other for the entertainment of the people. For Branch. She'd like to say that she heard his voice breaking through, but she didn't. It was just a part of her mind looking for a reason, or at least someone to blame.

The wounded started to stream through, some with minor cuts and abrasions, others brought back on stretchers either dead or barely clinging to life. Quickly she fell into a pattern; sort by wound severity and chance of survival, the mortally wounded got shots of morphine, those who might live got shots of adrenaline along with their morphine and the living with the minor scrapes and cuts were given a few Ibuprofen pills and a cup of water.

"Doc, doc, doc," one of the men that she thought wouldn't make it through the hour clawed up at the sky before finding her shirt and tugging at it.

"Oh sweetie," she felt his forehead, him running a fever and beaded with sweat, "you have to hold still. Don't make me call Bill over to strap you down."

"Just gimme the juice already," he grit his teeth.

"I need you awake. If I let you sleep, I'm not sure that you'll wake..."

"Just do it!" His face was mangled in desperation.

"I... can't, if you'll just hold on..."

"I've been holdin', I was victorious today, let that be my legacy."

"At what cost?"

"Just... Please."

Dr. Faraday hovered over him with a needle in hand. This was 60mgs, enough to put him out for a while and take away his pain. With the right tools, though, this man could be saved. Those tools weren't at her disposal, but they had to be in this compound, otherwise what was the point of all of this? She had to find Handsome Bill or Stuart and try to get this man something more than just a ticket to the infinite dark. Too many had died already in the name of nothing. She dropped the syringe and stalked off, looking for someone, anyone, when she tripped over a set of boots.

Her eyes followed them before she gasped, "Tom? What are you doing here?"

There sat TK Gabriel, all decked out in a set of new, distressed leather clothing, leaning up against a set of lockers with his eyes closed. This was one of his things. She learned that quickly when he had arrived at their outpost; he slept sitting up with a gun in his hand, propped up against his bike. There was no way that it was restful sleep, but even now, there he was, without his bike and that giant tarp that was tied to the back of it, or his gun, sleeping, sitting up.

"Yeah," he groaned. "I'm here."

"But why?"

He just shrugged.

"Don't tell me that they are making you fight."

He let out a sigh and a miniscule set of nods.

"But... But why? Weren't you a guest of honor?"

"He pissed off the boss," Bill boomed. "Ya don't get made guest of honor and then piss all over yer host, everyone knows that."

"So he's tossing you out into that pit to fight for your life?"

"Don't sound so incredulous, doc, that's how it works now. I thought ya knew that. Oh, and Gabriel, Branch gave the go ahead on the ring. They're setting it up right now, but be mighty careful. I heard that Farrington is stomping around and he's pissed, though."

"I'll deal." Tom stretched his arms out and pulled himself up to his feet.

"I don't get ya, antagonizing the lot here. Ya just got here." He shook his head and started to walk off before the doctor grabbed his arm.

"Bill, do we have any other medical supplies at all? I can't save lives with this. There's a boy over there now and..."

"No," he said.

"But..."

"Do what ya can with what ya got. I've got enough problems right now than to worry about some bilge rat, okay?"

"I just... Okay."

With that, she turned back to her closet and back to the cot where that boy lay, only he was passed out. The needle, she thought, remembering having placed it down. There was it, next to him, and emptied. One simple mistake, and she had sealed his fate. Maybe that's what she knew and had done it unwittingly? There was no way of knowing anymore. Her head was swimming.

"What the fuck is this bullocks?" She turned to see Will Farrington shouting at anyone and everyone.

"This is what he requested," Bill said. "Branch told me it was fine, I dunno, Will, I take orders from Branch."

"They are out there right now putting together my ring for this poofter," he pointed at Tom, who was still feigning that he was asleep. "That's bollocks! They'll think that it's me comin' out, then it's this arsehole."

"My hands are tied, Will, they really are."

"You answer to me!"

"I answer to Mr. Branch."

"Fuck this," Farrington unloaded on a locker.

"Calm down there, big guy," Tom stretched his arms out.

"You," Farrington kicked at his boot before stooping down in front of Tom's face. "Do you think this is a fuckin' game? Or you think this is funny? I'll destroy you out there, gut ya like a pig, and let Crusher eat your innards."

"Oh, are we fighting tonight? The ring should be out there."

"You fuckin' twat," he spat, storming off. "I'm going to Branch."

"That wasn't good," Bill said.

"How long until my fight?"

"Oh, uh," Bill scratched his chin, studying his clipboard. "Looks like yer up next, once this lot is done. Better get a move on, eh?"

"No shit," Tom said, stretching his arms out before sliding the jacket on. He looked like he had in the movies, which is what Branch had wanted out of him. Branch wanted poor Tom to be that man that he portrayed in the movies, the dashing action hero, and he wanted him to die in his arena. The Tom that she had known—even briefly—was quiet, kept to himself, but could handle weapons and take care of himself. She owed him her life now, but he didn't seem to care to collect on that debt. Granted, she'd still do whatever she could for him. He just had to stay alive.

"Alright, here's your weapon." Bill held the bat out handle first at TK. "Good luck out there. You're gonna need it."

"Gee, thanks," TK said, following Bill towards the mouth of the arena. She trailed behind them. With each step, the calls of the crowd grew louder and more violent. Two guards were supporting a beaten up man on their shoulders, the "victor" of the last fight, who looked like he wouldn't survive the night. TK stood in front of the gate, peaking through the cracks to see the ring about 30 yards out. The announcer's voice boomed in a barely decipherable voice, the crowd erupting once again while the gate began to creak open.

"Git out there," Bill pushed him from behind. "It's your go!"

"Fuck off, Bill," TK said, gripping onto the bat tightly in his left hand, taking a few test swings with the blunt weapon. Now he just had to survive. Bill looked back at her and nodded towards a door off to the side.

"Ya can watch from that box there, if ya want."

"What about this last bunch of boys?"

"We both know that they're dead," he shrugged. "Watch some fights."