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His hand twitched gently around the rusted machete. He sighed, his relatively moist breath creating a lightshow with the alkali metals in the air. His other hand clutched his only other precious possession: his journal - where he kept logs of those he'd saved, and those he couldn't. The radiator pack on his back flapped its wings in vain, trying to keep his body temperature from matching the 80-degree heat around him. Stifling. Toxic. Strewn with a decade of radioactive materials and 4 centuries of mankind’s worst. A dull green haze. He could feel it rotting his clothing. He could feel it rotting him. Why he still sterilized his blade in this world hostile to every known form of life, he couldn't say. Perhaps he just liked the sizzle of the hot blade on flesh. Perhaps he was a sadist. Perhaps it would slow the bleeding. He sighed heavily again. More lightshows. He pulled back the flap and stepped into his operating tent; a clean haven in this filthy world gone mad, thin wisps of the haze trailing out at the positive pressure did its job. When he was satisfied that it had dissipated, he sealed the outer door and stepped through the inner. Into a blazing white field hospital. He peeled off his mask, his hair pouring silver over his shoulders; bleached totally white by years of stress and erosion. His eyes fell over his only patient: A pretty young girl, hair like his, her life dependant on the iodine drip and the oxygen being forced into her bloodstream. He stepped towards her, sighing once more before his blade sizzled on her skin...
***


She gasped, eyes tearing open as a sudden arc of pain raced through her. She tried to scream, but couldn't through the pain in her chest. She knew something was wrong, that something had been done to her. She trembled, barely breathing, stars bursting in her vision, blurred by tears. A voice broke through the haze in her head. "Oh, you're awake." Her mind was unable to register the voice as anything but an errant thought. She blinked back tears, hands clenching so tight that her nails broke the skin on her palms. She saw a blurred figure approach her, helpless. She felt a slight pressure in the crook of her elbow. Then nothing. Sweet release. The world seemed to melt into soft putty. Even the horrendous pain in her chest became a dull throb. Again the voice. "There, is that better?" Her head lolled into the direction it came from, vision still blurred. She blinked several times, trying to focus. She burbled incoherently, tongue flapping disobediently as she tried to speak. ********. She thought to herself, I've gotten myself into deep s**t now. She burbled again, her half-formed words met with her head being tipped back and something mildly acidic being poured into her mouth. She swallowed, relishing the moisture in her parched mouth. Water. Debased water. Damn, at least I've gotten a decent one. She lolled her head back to the side, catching a glimmer of something silver. Breathing shallowly, she slowly tried to remaster her tongue. "Where am I...?" came her first coherent words finally. Something like broken glass answered her, followed by muttered expletives and lastly an answer. “You are in the care of doctor Jesse Kyleston. Now if you'll give me a minute I just dropped my terrarium jar with my pet spider in it, and the little bugger scurried off somewhere." She gasped, pain flaring a little in her chest. She hated spiders. Hated them with a burning passion. She feared them. Her world slowly convulsed, irrational fever dreams gripping her from the edges of insanity. She imagined being buried in spiders. She thrashed violently, leather and metal straps biting into her wrists and ankles. Finally, she screamed, but a tearing sensation cut her short. A last pathetic groan escaped her before her world went black.
***


Her eyes surged open, instinct telling her to gasp but logic and memory overriding. Finally a shallow breath slipped past her lips. Nothing. More breaths, and still no horrible pain. Nothing. She moved her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes; groggily she swung her feet over the edge of the bed to stand. Quickly she kissed the fabric floor as her legs gave out. Groaning and stubbornly refusing to give up the fight to gravity, she pulled herself upright, panting when her task was accomplished. She leaned against the cold metal frame of the bed, looking around: Sterility. Cleanliness. Books. Three things she hadn't seen since she was a small child. Everything was organized. She felt out of place. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to stand. Everything ached from disuse. Leaning on the edge of the bed she began to take inventory of herself - she had friends who had been taken in by "doctors" who returned with some things missing - most commonly breasts. The stories were told that some men had been driven to insanity by the haze, living their lives as cannibalistic sexual predators. She satisfied herself that she still had hers, however small. She checked her extremities: all there. Her face felt fully intact. Nothing wrong, but the inspection had slowly dawned it upon her - she was buck-naked. Too angry to be embarrassed, she scanned around again, looking for something to cover herself with. And there they were - her clothes, neatly folded on a small table not two strides away. She half ran, half fell to them, scrambling quickly to pull them on. They had been cleaned, the layer of sweat salt clinging to the inside all but gone, as was the layer of mud and grim on the outside. They had been repaired too, the countless tears and frays neatly patched. She zipped up the feet-to-neck regulator suit before slipping on the armoured carbon fibre shell-plate outer layer. Lastly she strapped her belt on, now devoid of her usual armaments. "s**t!" her exclamation punctuated by the sound of a zipper being, her head snapping towards the sound even as she moved to take cover, instinctively grabbing a heavy object to use as a weapon. Shoot first. Run. ******** the questions. She repeated her mantra in her head. Another zipper sounded. Peering around the bed she saw the figure enter - draped head to toe in black h-gear. She knew she didn't have the element of surprise anymore. Dropping the weapon she slowly stood up, hands raised above her head. The figure approached, a bundle in his arms, haphazardly tossing it onto the bed, the blanket unfurling to reveal her COIL and 28 fully charged canisters. The figure slipped off its mask before speaking, dark eyes meeting hers sternly. "Right-o. You had that when I found you, so I assume you know how to use it. Here's the situation: two months ago I found you in Death Valley with a busted rebreather. In order to save your life I had to replace your lungs." he paused, pointing to a jar of a black substance on a shelf before continuing "They're over there if you want them. As for the current situation, we're up s**t creek without a paddle, as a squadron of Sebs' Finest are about five minutes away. Grab what you can, load that thing and lets go." He tossed her rebreather to her, before he moved away to grab a few small items from his table. She didn't like orders, and she didn't know the man, but his tone told her it wasn't a suggestion - it was the facts. She scooped up her COIL, locking 6 canisters in - with a full charge it was enough for 18 shots. Stuffing the other twenty-two canisters into the loops on her belt, she pulled the rebreather mask on. Locking her eyes onto the man, she contemplated shooting him and leaving. But he had saved her life, or so he claimed. But there was no time. They both heard it - the signature whistle and chirping of an AP frag rocket. Instinctively she ducked behind the table. An instant later the rocket exploded above her, sending a shower of thermite and super-sonic flak everywhere. She felt it crack against the armour on her legs and chest. Scrambling to her feet, she dove out the gaping hole in the side of the tent. She knew what comes next - six more AP frag rockets and then a LORD grenade. It was standard procedure. The doctor, Jesse her mind seemed to label him, dove out after her, rolling to his feet before grabbing her arm and tossing her behind a rock face. The signature six whistles zeroed in on the tent, followed by six explosions. Looking back they both saw the tent go up in smoke, the haze swirling into it and removing it from their world. They waited together. They listened for the oh-so-familiar tink-tink-tssssst of the LORD. Nothing. He nodded to her, and she knew what it meant. They ran. And the haze erased any trace of them every having been there.