"I see" He responds. "I'll see what I can do. If you're qeasy, then I'd suggest looking away"
He says, opening his backpack, and taking out a small bottle and an syringe. Rick carefully extracts some of the liquid in the bottle and leans over man on the table. "Stay calm, this might sting a bit" he says, preparing his arm. The man grunts in response, and Rick injects the liquid. Soon the man is sound asleep, a deep, unresponsive slumber.

"Now the fun begins" Rick comments.
"He seems to have ruptured a major organ, probably his Ilum, or his colon, and he also has some severe internal bleeding, as indicated here" He points to a couple of deep purple spots on the mans skin.
"I'm astonished that he's made it this long. I'm going to have to operate, the sooner the better, so I need you to bring me some boiling water, some light, and a couple of clean towels, if you have any. Otherwhise, cloth will do". Rick removes his jacket, and rolls up his sleaves as he prepares a slight collection of tools from his backpack, and puts them on the table.
"Oh, a couple of bowls too, and some music, if that's possible" he says and smiles reassuringly.

[Arlonious]
After minor disorientation I find the bowls and some fairly clean sheets of cloth. The water was going to have to be boiled by hand, however I swiftly drew my flint and steel and made short work of the fire in further part of the bunker. I lifted a beaten pot onto some concrete slabs as the smoke lazily drifted out of the door.

"We might be hard up for music I'm afraid", I called to Rick hastily "the radio's been dead for the best part of a decade, maybe if you ask Sgt nice though, he'll sing you a tune"

Light was a tricky thing, the old bunkers wiring was getting old and it took several attempts to connect the correct wire for the dull bulbs to come on. I headed over to the water, now starting to boil and poured some into a pot which I steadily brought over to Rick.

Bartelby teetered off The Bike and took a deep breath of dry country air. "Ah" he thought to himself, "another empty wasteland." It wasn't that Bartelby disliked deserts, some of his best sanctuaries had been deserts, it was just that exceptionally empty areas always made him feel ... uncomfortable. He was a creature of cities. He had been born, raised and hunted through major ... metropolisi? Through tall buildings and angry people and repulsive air and that wonderful cacaphonous noise. There was something comforting about it, the noise was his home. Here however, all Bartelby could hear was the wind blowing loose sand in tiny billows across the plains for eternity. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

Bartelby pulled out his gun, spun around and quickly pointed it at a prarie dog that was scurrying into it's den. "Yeah, you better run. That will teach you to scurry around me you ... rat-like ... thing. Or whatever you are." Bartelby put the gun away feeling defeated and walked into the bunker Rick and Arlonious had run into. He was immediately bludgened by a scent he hesitated to identify. "it smells like dea - dust. it's definetly dust." he thought to himself and then caught sight of the man lying on the bed. "It's definetely not dust"

"Good god! Rick, to work man. I'm just going - I'll be over here if you need - well over there really a little further away. Best of luck." Bartelby started toward a chair in the far corner of the room. He had decided, all things considered, the desert had not been that bad.

Rick laughed heartily at Bartelby as he sat down. As the cool light of the lamps came on, he sighted with relief. It's one thing to operate on a man. It's another thing entirely to operate on a man in near darkness.
"Thank you. Now I can begin" He said as Arlonious brought the water. He took out a small pill, and dropped it in the bowl. The room soon filled with the distinct scent of antiseptic fluid. He took a pen, drew some markings across Riareous's stumic area, and slowly began to work, cutting the skin, and deftly applying tourniquet's as needed, spilling an surprisingly little amount of blood.

As he moved along, Rick felt himself enter a sort of medical trance, forgetting his surroundings, himself, the others. It was just his patient, himself, and the steady blur of his hands and his tools, cutting, stopping, sewing, almost seeming to have a life of their own. 'This would be alot easier with a couple of nurses' he thought for himself, sweating from the extertion. 'But then again, I'm lucky to have light and clean tools'.
Sewing up the final internal wound, he made great care as he began to extract his various tools. 'This really is my element' he mused, unsure if he spoke aloud or just thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, and at the same time a flash of light, Rick applied a greenish salve at the outer stiches, softly massaged the liquid in, and backed away a few steps. "It's done. I've done all that I can. He should be alright, with a bit of rest" He said, sighting heavily, washing his hands in the bloodied, cooling water.

As he felt himself retreat from the trance, he examined his work. Although he had been very fast, alot of blood had been spilled overall. The man would be weak for a while, a day at least, depending on his physique. Rick's shirt had been bloodied, and there was a quiet amount of the red liquid splashed about the general area. 'Sloppy, Rick. Sloppy.' The though for himself and grinned, as he cleaned up his tools with care, and returned them to his backpack. Atleas the man would survive.

He turned to Arlonious, wiping his hands on a towel. "He should be waking up soon. I would not be surprised if he had suffered from nightmares, this particular sedative tends to have, well, odd sideeffects. But then again, it is the fastest of my sedatives, and the most powerfull, and I felt that the situation called for drastic actions"

EPISODE 2: Introduction

Salvations End is a large, prosperous trading town on the edge of the ruined city which also houses Purgatories Gate. It is famous for being constructed atop the skeleton of an ancient highway, which now serves as a major caravan route in the southern wastes. Makeshift lifts and pulleys ferry travelers and traders from the sandy desert up to the massive, ancient causeway and this practice is the source of much of the towns wealth. Because of this it is possibly one of the most modern towns in the wastes, boasting a radio tower, a major bank, a rail station, a hospital, several fancy hotels, a large casino and more. One of the biggest draws to this small town is the annual Salvation Shootout, a massive combat tournament which often attracts some of the biggest, baddest combat talent in the wastes, as well as a great deal of the scum that like to profit off of such people. Hence during the 2 Weeks of the tournament the trading town becomes a cesspit of vice and debauchery and plays host to the elite of the wasteland crime world. Even if you aren't competing, it's a good place to make connections or even acquire a job of the less savory variety.

This year things are a little more interesting than usual, in addition to the prize of $10,000 (a lot of money in the wastes) a special, one time only prize has been offered to the tournament champion, a mysterious ancient artifact that supposedly holds a clue to unimaginable wealth and power, and also would be worth an absolute fortune to the right buyer. This information alone has attracted more than the usual amount of fortune seekers and mercenaries, leaving the trading town simmering with potential violence.

Rumor has it that The Captain, a mysterious wasteland crimelord with a keen interest in ancient artifacts, has his eye firmly set on the champions prize and is willing to do almost anything to get it. Other sources state that a secret force of Federal Marshalls has also infiltrated the tournament, hunting for information regarding another lost artifact, supposedly desired by The Captain. Lastly, many have heard of another such artifact that was last spotted in Purgatories Gate, before it vanished amongst the chaos of a massive and bloody battle between The Captain's enforcers and a group of drifters in the local tavern.

[Arlonious]
"So Rick", I asked "Where are you and Sgt headed, Riareous is mending and I can't thank you enough for helping me in this way. If you don't mind, we would like to tag along and see that no harm follows. I don't think what started in the tavern is going to be the end of it"

I caught Riareous' eye and he spoke a silent agreement. Riareous was looking so much better since his operation and had shed the skeletal look he once wore, and as he sat up I lifted down his weapons and handed them back into his already strengthening hands.

The jeep rumbled along the road, Salvations End could be seen in the distance hovering on above the ground or so it apeared.
CRASH! Clang, BANG. the jeep screached to a stop, and as it came to a halt the engine gave out.
"i think we lost somthing" Alotak said leaning out of the window, "yup we've lost some sheet metal?? did we even have sheet metal?".
Clambering out of the window Alotak lent against the side of the jeep.
"Come on guys i not checking it out by myself, any way were on foot from here on in it wont take us long only about 3 hours, it will be night fall so we will have to watch out for the larger predators, i'd take the sewers but you guys probably would not manage that".

*John is thrown out of a tinted car, blood running down his face he raises his head and sees a neon sign "Welcome to Salvations End". He thought to himself how very approprate. John begins to steadily rise and stumble into the town.*

"So, the mob want that prize. So that means it must be worth something. Something worth staying on the run for the rest of my life, I have got used to it anyway."

*John then began to think. If is in a tournament for fighting I stand no chance. I will just wait for the right opportunity. John then walks into the first inn that he sees.*

"Mind if I clean myself up? I have had a bit of a... Problem."

ENTRANCE:
Over the dusty barrens appeared the traveller and his llama. It was dusk and night was approaching quickly. Jago hurried Mercedes along, trying to reach the distant shape of Salvation's End before the darkness closed in. He was perfectly capable of spending the night in the desert but an actual bed was much more appealing. Plus, he was out of tequila.

He arrived at the town outskirts just as the last flickers of sunlight left the sky. Avoiding the town's main roads and squares he began to seek out a place to stay the night.He had decided to begin his search for the military man and the doctor here. He knew that any person with any sense wouldn't remain at Purgatory's Gate with all the ruckus that the burning tavern had caused. Plus, and any adventurous man worth his salt would be here for the tournament. The tournament itself did not interest Jago, but it's prize did. He patted his close kept pouch, feeling the slight shape of his own mysterious artifact. Failing to locate one of his targets he thought that the prize might also come in handy.

Finding a small shady inn, Jago left Mercedes and headed for the bar. Soon through the conversation of a few drunkards he found news indeed travelled faster than he did. Through the ridiculous rumours there was some useful information. Apparantly the Captain had been none too pleased about the loss of the object and his agents were scowering the town, as well as the Feds.
*That to add to the tall headbanded man* worried Jago. He new he'd better keep a extra low profile.
*The crowds of the tournament will help me there* he mused, *It will start soon, and with it I will start my search* With a last shot of tequila he headed upstairs to bed.

Entrance:

Galt awoke in the back of a crude wagon parked beside a campfire. The gash on his arm had scabbed over and he was feeling a bit better. He noticed a small packet of antibiotics laying beside him and reasoned whomever had taken him felt the need to keep him alive. Rearden was nowhere to be found.

He tried to move, but his attempt to get up was halted by the numerous shackles on his arms. Ah christ, looks like I've fallen on the wrong side of the slaver business. He looked about the wagon and tried to find some weakness in the chains. The loops ran from his wrists to a bracket on the floor. Damn, not enough room to grab a pick out of my jacket. Gonna have to just try and force it out.

Galt clenched his jaw and yanked on the chain with both arms. He heaved and tried to pry the crude metal bracket from the wooden floor. Bits of his scab cracked and flaked off, new blood dripping out to fill the place. With a final pull, Galt snapped the bracket off the floorboards. He was still wore the chain, but he now had considerably more room to move.

Using this newfound freedom, Galt slipped out of the back of the wagon and onto the desert floor. The two slavers slept by the fire peacefully, undisturbed by Galt'