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"Not more than a bit of street fighting, I can properly hold a knife or a gun... but I haven't had much use for either and fist fighting just seems like a waste of time when it is easier to avoid most fights with the dumb asses I have had to deal with." Bren shook his head as he stood again, stretching a bit before slowly walking around the bike, his eyes taking in all the special modifications that had been made to the frame and engine to allow for that amazing towing capacity.

"Damn... no, I know you are good at this, but look that" She tapped a slivered image. "..that is not just scar tissue! We bloody well missed some of that damn bullet, and I will have a hell of a time finding a surgeon to dig them out... but I do have another very good healer to help me try and fix him up again!"

Grace looked out at the red and black haired woman who was leaning against the empty gurney, hoping that Hono Raven would be able to pull herself together enough to help her heal the man.. help her fix some of that scar tissue... without her having to call in Verandi to boost her power.

So thusly, John was whisked from the CT room down into Ops. His head was shaved, his golden locks falling down around the bed he'd been placed on, still very asleep from the spell Hono'o had cast on him.

The surgeon walked into the room to check his skull, tutting a little as he saw the scars around his head. "Going for another tango in here, hmm? Lets hope its for the last time." He looked over to Hono'o. "I sure hope you know what you're doing, Miss Raven....this isn't like setting bones or sewing up wounds...you're messing with his head."

He was a brave man, saying such things to Hono'o...but he had to reiterate just how serious this type of thing was.

The surgeon sighed, hanging his head. "It all sounds nuts...but then, i removed tiny moray eels from a swimmer's heart the other day by placing tubes of salt water over them so they swam away from the heart and into a sack of blood, so i guess its not that nuts..."

So then they were in the operating room. Scrubbed up and ready to rock and roll. The surgeon looked down at the circular saw in his hands, pulling the trigger to watch the thing spin up - before looking over to the women. "Okay...no key-hole this time. I'm gonna take the top of his skull off...expose the brain completely. That should give you more to work with."

He began the initial cut just above the forehead, cutting all around the head before finishing off. Blood trickled down around the ring as he placed the saw down before grasping the big man's skullcap, pulling it off slowly with a sickening pop. Beneath was the Aesir's pink brain, pulsing and glistening wetly, covered in tiny white lines which seemed to spiderweb over the pinkness. To a layman, it would look like his brain was cracked.

The surgeon stepped back. "Better move fast..."

There was a moment as the electromagnet flared to life - before two tiny pieces of metal suddenly flew out of the pink matter to smack into the metal she was using as a magnet - before a scalpel suddenly flew across the room to dig into John's torso, quivering as the magnet in Hono'o's hand continued to pull on it.

The nurse blinked at the scalpel - before shrieking in pain as a pair of forceps slammed into her back, digging deep into her shoulder-blade. All the medical implements began to scatter on their respective trays, the trays rattle on the racks as Hono'o's little magnet began to draw them across the room, clattering across the room to slam into the bed, the implements digging into john's body, trying to get to the magnet in her hand.

She wielded the power of a god without knowing how to use it.

As soon as the magnet was gone the metallic objects stopped writhing towards it like they were on a slope and an earthquake was tossing them towards it - a few of the utensils were left quivering out of John's left side, leg and even one in his neck, some buried almost all the way through in an effort to dig through his skin and muscle to get to the source of the magnetic force - but now their forward progress had halted, and one of the nurses began to withdraw the scapels and forceps and clamps from his side and leg as Hono'o began to do her thing...

Hono'o weilded her magic over him, the crisscrossing crack-like lines in his brain beginning to fade slowly as she worked her mojo...but the damage was only being healed faster then normal, and the scarring process still occurred. The brain was a complex organism to begin with, and adding in John's own unique physiology, there was no telling whether this was commonplace or perhaps the effects of something else...

"Thats enough! We can't have his brain exposed for this long without proper prepping!" The surgeon said urgently. "Put the brain-cap back on, heal him up, and we'll see just how much of his is left in recovery..."

The case was back on, his brain had been fixed - somewhat - and now he slept. And slept. And slept.

They wheeled him out of the OR and into recovery, hooking IV drips full of nutrients and antibiotics into his arm and legs, a tube going down his throat to help him breath. He simply lay there, like a massive supine statue, not even snoring, just sleeping.

Slowly, his hair grew back. It took a full two days, but it grew back like it had never been cut back before. Long golden locks, luscious and thick, curling at first from his head like one of those chia-pets, where you plant the sprouts and watch them curl out of the seeds. His beard grew as well, becoming disturbingly long by the end of the first day, then quite thick at the end of the second.

On the third day he made his first movement. His right fist clenched and his brow furrowed, then he relaxed again. He did it twice more before the day was through. The doctors figured he was ready to breath on his own then, removed the breathing tubes, and upped his antibiotics.

On the fourth day he opened his mouth and spoke in his sleep. "...Baby..." He breathed softly. "...Hono'o..."

On the fifth day he mumbled something in a language nobody on the staff knew, but was known as Nordic, and he spoke of something to do with a wolf.

On the sixth day he finally opened his eyes. It was nighttime and the room was dark. He peeled his eyes open and looked at the ceiling for a while, feeling disjointed and not himself. He didn't know where he was or what had happened. His eyes rolled around the room, trying to see something familiar to ground himself to, like a baby chick trying to get its bearings for the first time,