Song Heping leaned against the rusty iron wall of the warehouse, the wound in his shoulder burning with pain.
Nura's fingers moved deftly over his skin, the suture needle threading through the torn flesh, each stitch feeling like it was on fire.
But he didn't even furrow his brow, just stared at the spider spinning a web in the corner of the warehouse.
"You're lucky," Nura bit through the thread, her voice low, "The bullet just grazed you, didn't hit the bone."
Antonov emerged from the shadows, handing over a silver flask.
"For disinfection."
Song Heping didn't need to look to know what was inside.
"Vodka."
"That's right." The Russian hulk grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth, "Or you could drink it, getting drunk also has an anesthetic effect."
Song Heping took the bottle and poured half of it directly onto the wound.
The searing pain from the alcohol made his temples throb, but he simply took a deep breath and handed the remaining half back to Antonov.
