DROP FIFTY-THREE
Hector was going crazy with worry. The Doc came and went, then came and went again. He assured him that he had fixed the damage and the surrounding tissue was healing nicely.
The Doc’s words made him relax, just a bit. A tiny smidge.
He took care of her, letting her rest on her bed. Changed her IV, the usual. It was becoming a habit of theirs.
But the Doc said she’d be up by the next day, and that he should let her rest, and that he should sleep as well.
Yeah, yeah, right.
Hector went to the only place he could actually relax in, his workshop.
He picked up her gear. It was ruined, torn, splattered with blood. Reddish brown, since there was no tomfoolery present in this room to change its colour.
Armadillo sat on the workbench. “It’s crap! Who made this s**t? It’s c
