#4

The van's engine had barely shut off when I stepped out, the cool night air filling my lungs with a sharp bite. Evelyn, ever efficient, was already preparing the surgical area inside. We were parked in an old abandoned building for the first patient, far from prying eyes.

"Doctor, your patient awaits," Evelyn said, her voice steady and unflinching.

"Goody," I said, following her back inside the van.

This was one of the many services we provide, you call me, pay up front and I save your life, then let you be retrieved by whoever brought you ass to me. Anyway, the patient is a man lying on the surgical table, unconscious. His chest was bare, a fresh bullet wound visible just below his ribcage.

But before I do anything, let's set the mood with... Moonlight Sonata, a true classic and perfect for this type of thing. Just like Megamind said, presentation is key to success.

Anyway, I stepped closer, my gloved hands already moving to assess the situation. The wound was serious but not fatal—yet. The bullet had missed vital organs but was lodged dangerously close to the spine. Typical gangster luck, getting shot but surviving just enough to need someone like me.

"Let's begin," I murmured. Evelyn handed me a sterilized scalpel, and I made the first incision with practiced precision. Blood welled up, and she was quick to suction it away, maintaining a clear field for me to work. What would I do without her?

"How long has he been out?" I asked, eyes fixed on the task... Not really, since I can do it with my eyes closed. Believe me, I tried and it worked.

"Twenty minutes, Doctor. Anesthesia will last another forty," she replied, monitoring his vitals.

"Plenty of time," I said, focusing on the embedded bullet. Using specialized forceps, I delicately probed the wound, feeling for the telltale hardness of the metal. There it was—lodged between two vertebrae, a millimeter's mistake away from paralyzing him for life. Why don't I have this kind of luck? I mean, I know he was shot but still!

"Hold steady," I instructed Evelyn, who adjusted the lights for better visibility.

With steady hands, I maneuvered the forceps deeper, gripping the bullet firmly. Soon, I pulled gently, feeling the resistance give way as the bullet slid free.

"There we go," I said softly, dropping the bullet into a metal tray with a satisfying clink. I proceeded to clean the wound thoroughly, applying a series of stitches that would leave minimal scarring. "Evelyn, antibiotics."

She handed me a syringe, and I administered the injection with the same precision I had with the scalpel. Infection was a killer just as much as bullets, and I wasn't about to let my handiwork be ruined by something as mundane as bacteria.

As I finished suturing, Evelyn prepared a bandage, wrapping it securely around the patient's torso. His vitals remained stable, and I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. Another life saved, another debt owed.

"Let him rest here for a while," I said, washing my gloves. "He'll be good before dawn."

Evelyn nodded, already cleaning the surgical area with the efficiency of a seasoned professional. Stepping out of the van, I breathed in the air. This is truly exciting, to have the life of someone else in my hands. Ah, what a dangerous feeling.

"Ready for the next operation?" Evelyn asked, joining me outside.

"Always," I replied with much humbleness...

Anyway, there were five others with similar wounds, so I'll skip them and go to the last one. This one was definitely going into my book of memorable procedures. The man had lost a leg, and they wanted me to sew it back together. Ha! As if it was possible... It is, and I'll do it.

Ensuring every tool was sterilized and within reach, I made sure Evelyn stood by, monitoring the patient's vitals and handing me instruments as needed. This, after all, is still a difficult process, even for me.

"Scalpel," I requested while analyzing the clean cut just below the knee.

Evelyn promptly handed me the instrument, her movements smooth and efficient. What a gal. Anyway, I made the first incision, preparing the stump for reattachment. My hands worked methodically, clearing away any damaged tissue and exposing the bone for a clean connection.

Next, I turned my attention to the severed leg, which was neatly preserved in a cooler full of ice, meticulously cleaning and preparing it. With the same precision, I aligned the bones, using a custom-designed titanium plate to secure the connection. Tiny screws were inserted with exacting care, ensuring stability and proper alignment. I'm pretty sure he'll be a fast runner from here on out.

I then began the delicate task of reconnecting the major blood vessels. Using micro-sutures, I painstakingly stitched together the arteries and veins, ensuring that blood flow would be fully restored once the leg was reattached. This process required immense focus and steady hands, as any mistake could lead to catastrophic bleeding or a failed reattachment. But who am I? I'm the flesh carver, motherfucker. I can do this with spit and bubblegum.

With the blood vessels connected, I moved on to the nerves. Using a specialized nerve regeneration technique of my own invention, not highly efficient but there's no need to make the man superhuman, I ensured that the patient would regain full sensation and motor control. Each nerve was carefully aligned and bonded using a bio-compatible adhesive that would dissolve naturally once the healing process was complete.

"Almost there," I said for dramatic effect.

The final step was to reattach the muscle and skin, my least favorite part. Do you have any idea what strange loose skin feels like? Anyway, layer by layer, I sutured the muscle tissue, making sure it was properly aligned for optimal function. Once the muscle was secure, I closed the skin with a series of fine, precise stitches, leaving minimal scarring.

I then finally stepped back to admire my work. The leg was reattached perfectly, and the patient's vitals remained stable. I applied a regenerative salve to the wound, one of many secret concoctions, to accelerate the healing process.

"He should be able to walk by tomorrow," I informed Evelyn while thoroughly cleaning my gloves.

"Impressive work as always, Doctor," Evelyn said, her voice calm and professional.

"Don't do that, Evelyn. You know how much I hate scripted praise," I said, finally clean from all this work. "Now, let's deliver some guns."

I moved around cleaning while Evelyn contacted whomever brought this guy here, informing of his successful procedure as the good secretary she is. I, on the other hand, sat in the shotgun seat awaiting for her to drive us to the meeting with the buyer.