[@Monochromatic Rainbow][@Eisenhorn][@rivaan][@Skyrte]


In the time it had taken the synapses within Stukov's mind to even send the electrical impulse from his brain, to his lips and limbs, and caused the words to tumble forth, Lartius had already made a complete and comprehensive sweep of the entire garage and the group of individuals present within. From behind his goggles he allowed his eyes to wander, never completely ignoring the bleeding female, but more than confident in his own abilities to heal her; mag-locking his maul and netter to his hips, concealed quite handily by his flowing robes of crimson, he focused first on the only one that had spoken directly to him.

[i]Cog boy?

Cog, noun; one of the tooth-like parts around the edge of a wheel in a machine that fits between those of a similar wheel, causing both wheels to move.

Boy, noun; A male child or youth. Also: a son, irrespective of age (chiefly as referred to by members of the immediate family).

Assumed Conclusion: An attempt at rough humour by reference to present appearance, and station as a servant of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Possibly a common moniker of sorts. Stored for later analysis.[/i]

Looking the Armsman up and down, he decided that this Stukov was indeed an interesting machine, his internal cogitator gulping in vast amounts of raw knowledge and making sure that every inch of this man was recorded for possible use at a later date.

[i]Name: Unknown

Age: Forty-four

Occupation: Unknown, analysis of speech patterns and slang terms indicate a background in the Imperial Navy, light armour and favour of the Mk Twenty-Two Cee would seem to support this.

Background: Unknown[/i]

And so it went on, taking in his entire body structure, possible blood type, ethnicity, colour of hair and eyes and in the main anything that might be useful now or in the future.

Completely ignoring his fellow inductee of the Ad-Mech, he half-walked and half seemed to glide into the garage and past the trio of still-standing combatants, coming to a stop as he loomed over the bleeding and damaged machine that they called 'Cath' like some sort of vampiric spider.

[i]Initial prognosis shows multiple lacerations, multiple fractures – agitated by rough movement and handling – as well as significant blood-loss.[/i]

It was now that the [i]wonders[/i] of the Mechanicus made themselves known, a medicae mechadendrite – a two-metre long limb of durable metals and plasteel for flexibility, tipped with what amounted to an advanced medical kit – emerged from beneath the robes covering his broad shoulders to hover over Cath. Meanwhile, multiple smaller Mechadendrites (those not the size of an entire limb), slithered forth, each tipped with various blades, lasers and strange liquids contained within injector tubes.

“Do not fear,” came a surprisingly soothing voice from within the triangular mask covering his mouth, “I shall take your pain away, and I shall fix you.”

Without any sort of hesitation, he slid needle of one of the injector tubes into a prominent vein – the small prick of the needle likely barely registering with the over-drugged soldier – and let the greenish liquid of the vial insert itself into her system; it would slowly ease her into a more relaxed state, one where she would feel little pain but also cause her body temperature to rise as she was forced to sweat out the inferior painkillers already within her.

Simultaneously his larger mechadendrite swung down, a luminous bulb, which was much more than a mere light, sweeping over her in a matter of seconds.

“This might hurt.”

This statement was less sincere, but altogether more serious than his last, two mechadendrites tipped with small clamps moving up to grip her arm – one at the wrist, the other nearer the shoulder – Lartius bending forward in imitation of a human sawbones, though he had no need to, and taking a look at the fractured limb; it was a clean break, or break[i]s[/i], so that was good, what was not good was that she seemed to have other breaks such as a rib or three and possible damage to her spine. There was internal damage, hence the bleeding from her mouth, but he could administer further medicines that would help re-knit flesh and cease the pain once she was moved.

“Do not move.”

The largest mechadendrite - having finished closing her most grievous gashes and lacerations with a simple but effective flesh-stapler, which would at least stop the most serious bleeding – now hovered over her arm, smaller limbs flailing about as they worked to clear the areas around the fractures of material and dirt.

With precision born of meticulous training, as well as real-life application, he forced a mechadendrite deep into her skin; in it went, burrowing through the flesh to get to the areas where the bones were broken and, upon locating them, to force them together. Once together, a minuscule contraption emerged from within the centre of the mechadendrites tubing, between the tiny clamp holding the bones in place, a form of greyish liquid known only as [i]osteoclay[/i] binding the larger bones together and setting as soon as it reacted with the heat of the body and the blood flowing through it – in short, it would act just like bone without having to wait for the bones to heal themselves, a lengthy and useless process in the opinion of the Genetor.

Having noticed that Stukov was going about making a form of crude stretcher, and judging that Cath should now be at least stable enough to move, he withdrew his mechadendrites back into the folds of his robes and gave a curt nod to the Armsman.

“My work would be more precise with a better environment; we must move her carefully to a more acceptable location.”

This meant anywhere with a suitable table, or at least surface where she could be laid down in more comfort than she currently was in.