The solution in the little bottle that cost every last credit I had smells like… well, let’s just say it’s not subtle. The harsh chemical odor invades my nose and throat as I unscrew the lid and then pour it over the folded strip of cloth I ripped out of my parka liner because I couldn’t afford gauze. There’s a hint of sweet too, mixing with the alley’s usual stench of sewage and rot, that makes my stomach roil in protest.

I’m crouched behind some crates, Gus hovering nearby on lookout, and pull my coat off my shoulder as my breath fogs the air. The old Jarlak said to saturate the wound, and then tie the soaked bandage in place and change it once a day until it’s healed.

There isn’t enough solution in this bottle for a whole week.

He said it “might sting a little” too. Taking a deep breath through my mouth—which isn’t any better, I press the soaked, improvised bandage on my shoulder. Based on the smell alone I’m thinking it’ll hurt more than—

“Jancok!”

My swear cuts off as my breath hitches and I bite my lip so hard it bleeds. Tears stream down my face as Gus pivots in the air flashing an alarmed red at me. This doesn’t just sting—it burns. Deep and penetrating. A searing, corrosive, caustic pain radiating from my shoulder as the solution literally eats through my nerve endings.

It hurts so bad I can’t see.

And it doesn’t fade.

It builds.

I fall against a crate, curling into a shivering, sweating ball as my muscles seize and breakfast threatens to come back up.

Some of it does. A little. In the back of my mouth. I force it down and moan as Gus drifts in close, pulsing red.

After it seems like it can’t get worse, but does anyway, the pain finally ebbs a little, enough so I can breathe and see again anyway. But a deep, persistent ache mixed with sharp tingles lingers.

Pushing myself back up to my knees, I wipe the tears and snot from my face, swaying as a wave of dizziness hits, along with a stabbing headache.

“I’m fine,” I tell Gus, waving him away. “It’s fine. Just stung a little.”

He laughs in flashes of white and cracks a joke at my expense. I shoot him the appropriate gesture in reply with a shaking hand. The awful smell clings to everything, sweet-chemical-wrong, and every breath reminds me of what I just did to myself.

But at least I won’t die of sepsis.

For now.

I pull my parka around me and huddle down in it, leaning against a wall, shivering, sweating, waiting for the darkness clinging to the edges of my vision to fade, but it doesn’t. Neither does the headache.

So I sit there for several minutes, staring at nothing… aching and broke.

Gus nudges my arm and gives me a questioning amber pulse.

“I don’t know,” I admit, pulling one of my braids over my shoulder to inspect the split ends. “I don’t know what’s next.”

My breath exhales in a thick fog as I force myself to my feet, bracing my hands on my knees until the dizziness passes.

“But sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to do either of us any good. What I need is a job. Kael isn’t the only fixer in town.”

Gus replies in flickers of amber followed by a flash of red.

“That’s exactly who I’m talking about. Yes, it’s not a good idea. Do you have a better one? No? Didn’t think so.“

More red flashes.

“Oh, stow it. How bad can that little Pkorr be?”

###