Thien Anh sat on the examination chair, shedding his coat which was caked in dust and dried blood.
As the last layer of clothing was stripped away, Lam Linh instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes widening in sheer horror. The air in the clinic seemed to freeze.
Before her was not the body of an ordinary man, but a living tapestry of violence and brutal survival.
Across his bronzed skin, scars crisscrossed like a chaotic map. There were raised keloids, hollow craters, a jagged blade-scar running the length of his spine, the circular puckers of bullet wounds on his shoulders, and countless jagged bite marks—vestiges of childhood battles with feral dogs and later encounters with monsters.
Not an inch of skin remained unmarred. His body looked as if it had been patched together from fragments of wreckage.
"Scared?" Thien Anh asked, his voice as casual as if discussing the weather.
Lam Linh startled, shaking her head quickly, though her eyes couldn't hide a flicker of profound pity. "No… It's just… I've never seen someone endure so much pain and still be standing."
She took a deep breath, struggling to reclaim her professional composure. Her long, slender hands began to palpate Thien Anh's muscular torso.
She wasn't just checking his bones; she could feel the uncanny density of the muscle beneath the skin—a latent strength that far surpassed that of any normal human.
"Deep breath in… and out…"
With every breath Thien Anh took, his chest rose and fell with a visible, labored effort.
After ten minutes of rigorous examination, Lam Linh's expression turned grim. A faint twitch appeared at the corner of her eye.
"You truly are a monster. Four ribs are shattered; two of them have shifted inward, pressing against the pleural lining. Internal hemorrhaging, pleural effusion… With injuries like these, a normal person would have died from traumatic shock long ago. Yet here you are, walking and firing weapons as if it's nothing."
She looked directly into Thien Anh's eyes, her voice resolute.
"You need surgery immediately. We have to open the chest cavity, reset the bone fragments, secure them with plates and screws, and drain the fluid. If we don't, you'll die of respiratory failure."
Thien Anh narrowed his eyes. "Can you do it?"
"I'm a Traditional Medicine practitioner, but I hold a degree in external surgery. I used to be part of a surgical team, though I've never been the lead on a case this severe…" Lam Linh hesitated, then continued, "I'm eighty percent certain."
Thien Anh's gaze sharpened, as cold as a scalpel's edge.
"Eighty percent? Meaning there's still a twenty percent chance I die on your table?"
The killing intent radiating from him made Lam Linh tremble. She stammered, "Medicine… nothing is ever one hundred percent. But… but I will do my absolute best!"
Thien Anh stared at her for a long, heavy moment, applying immense psychological pressure before suddenly withdrawing his killing intent. His frozen expression relaxed, replaced by a look of… vulnerability and profound solitude.
"I know," he sighed, his voice dropping into a somber, self-reflective tone. "I'm sorry for frightening you. I've lived alone since I was a child, accustomed to baring my fangs and claws just to protect myself. I'm not very good at communicating with normal people. My words can be harsh; I hope you can overlook that."
Lam Linh froze. The cold-blooded assassin had just… apologized to her? And that look of loneliness…
Thien Anh continued his "performance":
"My life is in your hands now. You're the only person I can trust at this moment. If I die, just take all the food in my pack and try to survive."
A perfect psychological masterstroke.
Lam Linh was a simple girl at heart, having just survived the nightmare of the "Chamber of Horrors." Thien Anh's shift from a terrifying authority figure to a wounded man in need of help struck a deep chord of compassion within her.
Her chest tightened. She said hurriedly:
"Don't say such ominous things. I promise, I will save you. Even if I have to stay awake all night, I will reconnect every single fragment of bone for you."
Thien Anh let out a faint, internal smirk. The bait had been taken.
He needed a loyal doctor, not one who worked out of fear. Fear makes a hand tremble when holding a scalpel, but trust and empathy drive them to exhaust every ounce of their ability.
"Thank you," Thien Anh said, his eyes projecting a (false) sincerity. "How long until I recover?"
"After surgery, you'll need at least a month of rest for the bones to knit back together."
"A month?" Thien Anh shook his head. "Impossible. It's too dangerous here. The scent of blood will draw every monster in the vicinity. We can't stay in this hospital."
He stood up, redonning his coat, and issued a decisive command:
"Gather every medicine, surgical tool, anesthetic, and antibiotic you can find. Everything you need. We're heading back to my base."
Lam Linh was surprised. "Base?"
"Yes. A place of absolute safety, fully equipped, clean, and far from the reach of monsters. Only there can you perform the surgery without distraction."
Lam Linh nodded frantically. She didn't want to stay in this corpse-ridden hospital for a single second longer. She quickly began scavenging the cabinets, shoving everything into a large duffel bag.
As they prepared to leave, Lam Linh paused, glancing toward the dark stairwell leading back to the second floor, where the other survivors were hiding.
"What about the others…"
Thien Anh looked at her, his gaze returning to its natural, icy state.
"You want to save them?"
"They… they are still human, after all…"
"They are the 'humans' who threw their own kind to the monsters just to escape. They are the 'humans' who watched you being dragged away and didn't dare utter a single word," Thien Anh cut her off, his voice like striking steel. "I saved you because you have value. You are a doctor; you can heal. And them? They are just mouths to feed and the seeds of future betrayal. In the apocalypse, misplaced kindness is a form of suicide."
Lam Linh bowed her head, biting her lip. She remembered the lecherous gazes and the sheer cruelty of the men in that room. Thien Anh was right.
"I understand," she whispered. "Let's go."
Thien Anh nodded in satisfaction.
"Mutt! Lead the way. Azure Sky, bring up the rear."
The group departed from the clinic, stepping into the night of falling snow, leaving behind the hospital of death and those unworthy of salvation.