It was the creepiest thing that Yume had ever witnessed as the ANBU team charged with retrieving the Burning Blade were wheeled passed her on litters heading for the O.R. Each of them still wore their masks, hair singed away in gnarled patches but enough still left to make them look like a troubled child had gone at them with safety scissors. Flesh was peeling and burnt. Two of them appeared to have their palms melted away until the bones of their fingers could be seen, tips flexing as if they were still grasping for the elusive artifact. Beneath their masks, ragged breaths gasped for air. It was all Yume could hope that the flames had not made it passed their face shields and down their throats. None of this was what made her want to scream and hide; It was the deathly quiet that enshrouded them. As the elite shinobi they were trained that pain was nothing… or perhaps they had been so badly burned that their nerves simply didn’t feel.
As the beds rolled one way, Yume rushed briskly down the hall, plaiting and binding up her hair as she pushed into the prep room. A gown was wrapped around her as she scrubbed her hands and donned soft plastic gloves that most of her patients wouldn’t be allergic to. Such a reaction would only compound the issue of scorched flesh. She covered her face with a surgical mask while her hair was kept at bay with a cloth bonnet. Backing out through double swinging doors, she would enter a room with curtains separating the victims requiring immediate attention. Two other teams were already at work as Yume walked passed; a nurse sliding their enclosure tight. Entering her own sterile area, the nurse that was briefing her on the scenario was relegated back to observation as another nurse took over. On the table lay the slight form of a female, clothes already cut and peeled as best as one could. Hers were the hands that Yume had espied, charred and bubbled from the heat.
Yume set to work, summoning icy water to cool the open wounds but careful that she didn’t sweep away any of the much needed plasma. Each patch of water would shield a bubble of air that would circulate as it would heat up, allowing Yume to attend to her hands. It was bothersome that she could not view the face of her patient but as the ANBU captain requested, none were to have their mask removed without another of their squad present to shield their face. Their identities were private.
The charred remains of her palms were darker than well-done Yakkina Tokage and smelled as sickly as burnt toffee. As gingerly as possible, she would peel off the shinobi’s gloves and slough off the charred flesh that held no purpose other than to infect the gaping wounds. A slimy compound was brought forward, light green in colour which turned aqueous when it was rubbed on a surface. Trying not to play with it too much, Yume needed it in its jelly form as she would cover the burns. Wrapping both hands in non-stick gauze, Yume created the same pockets of air beneath the wraps. This would be a slow healing process but for now all they could do was remove what would cause contamination and maintain hydration. The rest would have to wait until the ANBU captain authorized the removal of the masks and each mednin assigned to duty signed non-disclosure agreements.
Bureaucracy was a joke.
[WC: 597]
As the beds rolled one way, Yume rushed briskly down the hall, plaiting and binding up her hair as she pushed into the prep room. A gown was wrapped around her as she scrubbed her hands and donned soft plastic gloves that most of her patients wouldn’t be allergic to. Such a reaction would only compound the issue of scorched flesh. She covered her face with a surgical mask while her hair was kept at bay with a cloth bonnet. Backing out through double swinging doors, she would enter a room with curtains separating the victims requiring immediate attention. Two other teams were already at work as Yume walked passed; a nurse sliding their enclosure tight. Entering her own sterile area, the nurse that was briefing her on the scenario was relegated back to observation as another nurse took over. On the table lay the slight form of a female, clothes already cut and peeled as best as one could. Hers were the hands that Yume had espied, charred and bubbled from the heat.
Yume set to work, summoning icy water to cool the open wounds but careful that she didn’t sweep away any of the much needed plasma. Each patch of water would shield a bubble of air that would circulate as it would heat up, allowing Yume to attend to her hands. It was bothersome that she could not view the face of her patient but as the ANBU captain requested, none were to have their mask removed without another of their squad present to shield their face. Their identities were private.
The charred remains of her palms were darker than well-done Yakkina Tokage and smelled as sickly as burnt toffee. As gingerly as possible, she would peel off the shinobi’s gloves and slough off the charred flesh that held no purpose other than to infect the gaping wounds. A slimy compound was brought forward, light green in colour which turned aqueous when it was rubbed on a surface. Trying not to play with it too much, Yume needed it in its jelly form as she would cover the burns. Wrapping both hands in non-stick gauze, Yume created the same pockets of air beneath the wraps. This would be a slow healing process but for now all they could do was remove what would cause contamination and maintain hydration. The rest would have to wait until the ANBU captain authorized the removal of the masks and each mednin assigned to duty signed non-disclosure agreements.
Bureaucracy was a joke.
[WC: 597]