Atlas Reloaded - Book Five of the Damned of the 2/19th

Pain, Dancing, and Confessions

My left leg below the tourniquet burned, oxygen starved tissues screaming at my heart and brain to pump them blood. My breathing was slow and steady, the steel band around my chest gone for the moment. She had used the diamond dust coated wire saw I kept in my gear to slowly saw away the excess from the plexiglass, leaving only a half inch sticking out. I had my arms folded on the steering wheel, my head on my forearms, staring at her. Staring at her breasts, letting my gaze trace every bit of them like I was memorizing them.

In a way, I was.

She snapped her fingers in front of me and brought my out of my daze.

"You still with me, Franky?" She asked.

"Yeah," I told her. I slowly inhaled and exhaled.

"I gotta loosen your tourniquet," she said gently, putting her hand on my cheek.

"I'll be good boy," I promised. "I can't straighten up. I'm too weak and shaky. Do it to the count of twenty, not five."

"It's OK, Franky. I can do it," She said. She reached out, finding the fork control rod and pulled the loop free, letting the rod spin through a half rotation.

The lizard yanked off the front of his control panel as I screamed when blood poured into my leg. The burning moving to fire ants and red hot needles. She counted to twenty, then cranked it back down, fumbling with the loop to get it over the end of the steel rod.

My leg throbbed.

"That's the first time I heard you scream," she said gently, rubbing my back. I just sobbed, closing my eyes. "That must have hurt like hell."

"Circulation returning to Oh-two starved tissues," I said. "All the nerves in my leg went live with pain and critical damage signals," I sobbed.

The lizard looked up from the wiring and shook his head before going back to work. If that happened again, my heartbeat might not go back down or I might pass out.

"You're not going to die on me, are you, Franky?" She asked me.

"Not if I can help it," I promised, getting myself under control. The lizard chattered to himself and stood up, putting his tools back in his toolbelt, satisfied he had the cutouts engaged for the pain in my leg. "Sorry I lost my shit."

"It's OK," Carol told me. "You're hurt pretty bad."

"I've been hurt worse. The problem is, this is the best we can do for medical care," I told her. "The blood pipe in my leg is nicked at least, probably abraded, and the only reason I didn't bleed out is the plexi. My lung's punctured in two places and every breath I'm pushing air into my chest cavity," I sighed, "I'm concussed. Something grinds in my neck when I turn my head."

"That's... pretty bad," She said.

"And my balls hurt," I told her.

That made her laugh. She wiped her eyes and looked at me. "You know, if your position was different, I'd suck your cock. That'd probably make you feel better."

I nodded slow. "Massive dopamine and endorphin release. It'd be like a shot of morphine or heroin in the condition I'm in."

"Really?" She said, looking slightly doubtful.

"Yeah. I'm in shit condition right now. My body's trying to process too many pain signals, but it's all old pain, so it has to use lower priority channels, that's why it's a dull ache unless I cough," I told her, staring at her breasts. "Sexual stimulation would be new signals for the pleasure/pain complex, and new signals always have priority based on strength and priority locations."