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"You poor son of a b***h," a man in a black surcoat said, kneeling next to the man. "Well, I don't think you're going to give me much complaint as to helping you, so don't do anything." He set his bag down and started placing his figners on the sides of his head, his neck, chest, arms (or what's left of them), feet, legs, and even goes so far as to probe around his groin.

"Any of that hurt?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I can't give you any sedative until I take care of that arm, at least." He pulls out a gold plated gauntlet, complete with a faded emblem on the knuckles. He holds it to the end of his right arm's sleeve, waits a moment, then slips the gauntlet in. The fabric of his coat came to life, seeming to fill with air and hold the gauntlet up.

"I'll need two hands for this, so be grateful I keep this around." He reached into his bag and pulled out a needle and thread, plus various herbs and bottles. He started stitching up the arm, using one hand to pull the flesh together in different areas. He poured thick substances into the wound, not warning him about the sting of each.

"Good boy, I see you've done your homework. I'll give you an A." He poured in a ghastly looking purple liquid that turned into a hardened gel in the wound. "I'm afraid I can't help you without amputating the arm. But don't worry, I'll seel it up and try to heal the arm while it's off you. You'll get it back. Though you may have to borrow this for a few days..." He tapped the gauntlet.

He sat and looked at the man, his eyes posing the question to him: Should he or should he not? That is the question.

The man slipped off the right corner of his coat, showing the lack of an arm. He quirked a brow. "Without a hand, you're going to need something. I can work just fine with my sister, so I'll have three hands, really." He slipped the arm back on.

The sleeve had deflated the gauntlet laid limp, until he slipped the coat back on, inflating the arm again. He wiggled the fingers and scooped up some red paint-like substance with his real hand, applying it around the edges of the man's shoulder. "This will severe and seal the arm. All I need is to invoke a bit of mana. Shall I continue?"

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Pain wasn't new to Snow, but having an arm severed while mostly unsedated? Well, at least the needles did their work in dampening the initial nervous breakdown....

The left side pounded the ground once. Twice. Sweat beaded from the pores of his body, but nonetheless, he kept his mouth shut despite the gruesome feeling. It was only after a few minutes did he breath unevenly, and eventually got up at a staggering pace, the man's coat held limply with his left hand.

".....I don't know if I should say thanks for amputating my arm, or..."

Snow clutched the right shoulder, grimacing. He tore some fabric off of his cloak before tying it like a noose around the exposed vessels, as to prevent infection - and to keep modesty, at least - to the exposed wound.

Uncertain, he looked at the gauntlet. So this is what happens to people who get a**-kicked here....or is it?

The needles were then yanked out of his flesh, and more incoming torrents of pain flooded his mind, in which Snow trembled to ignore the searing sense, referring to retrieving both his blades on the ground before looking at the blue vial.

"....I'm...fine. This is just some side effects from my endeavours....it'll fade off eventually." He murmured, limping his way to where the man would probably go, not putting the coat on, but nonetheless keeping a hold on it for the moment.

Any with a radio in the area would find the signal begin to cut out, replaced by what seemed to be the erratic thoughts of another. He seemed to have jacked the signal, his own mind replacing any and all transmissions. That of the lot which was intelligable seemed to cut in and out, rambling about his lungs and being on the run. Then, he suddenly stopped, yelling through the radio, "NO! Stop! Stop listening to my thoughts! STOP IT! STUPID PRIMATIVES!" And then, quite simply, radios began malfunctioning, if not from their systems burning out then from the high pitched whine that pulsed from the speakers, perfect for making someone's ears bleed.

This seemed to accompany a twitching man that entered the reception area. His skin was grey and angular, as if stretched to its limits with something that did not belong just beneathe the surface. A tight fitting bodyduit was concealed by shabby looking black pants and black sweatpants. He shuffled along, torn up excuses for boots dragging across the floor as he seemed unable to lift them far. A doctor's mask covered the lower half of his face, concealing what one would expect to be his mouth and nose. He didn't even fully stop in reception, shuffling through as computers began to go haywire, his face flashing across screens as he seemed to be interfering with their OS somehow.

A small bag was tossed to the receptionist as the required data seemed to fill itself out upon her computer, his ghostly face overlaying the screen, "My. Fee. That is all." And then the computer system shut down, locking out all access for a programmed time of 42 minutes. The man shuffled on.

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