The medical bay was a controlled chaos of precision and technology. Dagger floated inside a cylindrical recovery chamber, submerged in a viscous, glowing green liquid that pulsed faintly with every beat of his heart. Tubes ran from ports in the chamber to the ceiling, feeding in oxygen and a cocktail of accelerated healing agents.
Monitors around the room displayed his vitals—erratic but stabilizing. His heavily battered body looked fragile against the glowing liquid: a missing eye, jagged gashes across his torso, and deep bruises on nearly every visible inch of his skin.
She stood beside Tank and Volt, watching in silence as the medical team worked to stabilize their comrade. The room was cold, sterile, a far cry from the heat of battle they'd just left. But the sight of Dagger in that chamber brought a different kind of heaviness.
"How long does he stay in there?" she finally asked, her voice quiet.
"Until the tech does its job," Volt replied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Sparks flickered from his gloves, a sign of his nerves. "Could be hours, could be days. Depends on how much damage they find."
Tank let out a low grunt, his gaze fixed on Dagger. "Man looks worse than I've ever seen him. Even for him."
A medic approached them, a slender tablet in hand. "His vitals are stabilizing, but it's going to take time. The regenerative gel will handle the broken bones and muscle tears, but the ocular damage…that's going to take some time as it is a far cry from what we can fix here. Healing it is one thing, but making one…"
Volt frowned. "So he's down an eye for good?"
"Not necessarily," the medic replied, his voice clipped but not unkind. "When he's stronger, we can look into cybernetic replacements."
"Alright, your turn," the medic said, turning to her.
She stiffened, unused to being the center of attention. "I'm fine," she insisted, but the sharp pain in her ribs betrayed her words.
Tank snorted. "Yeah, sure you are."
She shot him a glare but didn't resist when the medic gestured for her to follow. He led her to another recovery chamber, albeit a smaller one.
"You've got at least two fractured ribs," he said, pulling up a scan of her torso on a nearby monitor. The jagged lines on the image made her wince.
"Great," she muttered, climbing into the pod-like device.
The medic activated the chamber, and she felt the gel-like substance rise around her, cool and oddly soothing. The pain in her ribs dulled almost immediately as the regenerative agents began their work.
---
Back near Dagger's chamber, Tank and Volt lingered in tense silence.
"You think he'll be okay?" Tank asked, breaking the quiet.
Volt sighed, sparks dancing faintly around his gloves. "He's Dagger. If anyone can walk away from this, it's him."
"But what and especially WHY the hell did they do this to him?" Tank muttered, his hands clenched into fists.
Volt didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the faintly glowing chamber where Dagger floated.
---
Inside the chamber, Dagger's body began to show signs of improvement after only a day submerged in the regenerative gel. His battered form, which had seemed more dead than alive when they rescued him, was steadily mending. Bones re-aligned and knitted together; deep bruises faded into lighter shades, and the gashes across his torso sealed with faint scars already forming.
The monitors reflected his improving vitals—a testament to the advanced technology at work. Yet one thing remained untouched: the hollow, bloodied socket where his left eye used to be. It was a stark, unhealing reminder of what he had endured.
---
The Doctor, entered the recovery room. Her lab coat swished behind her, and her sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in the glowing chamber where Dagger floated and the team assembled around it.
She stopped at the monitor displaying Dagger's vitals, her expression unreadable.
"He's stabilizing," she began, her voice crisp yet measured. "Physically, he'll recover fully in time. The chamber is doing what it's designed to do—knitting his bones, repairing torn muscles, flushing out toxins."
Volt, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, exhaled through his nose. "But?"
The Doctor turned, her piercing eyes meeting his. "But psychological trauma isn't something we can fix with tech. Torture leaves scars that no chamber, no gel, no miracle science can erase."
Tank let out a heavy sigh, his arms folded. "So, what do we do? Sit and hope for the best?"
The Doctor's lips thinned, but before she could reply, PS strode into the room, her presence commanding immediate attention.
PS glanced briefly at the recovery chamber before addressing the group. "You got him out. That's what matters right now. But we need to be clear—Dagger's recovery isn't just about his body. It's about his place on this team. A broken soldier doesn't only risk their own life; they risk everyone else's."
Her tone was firm, almost cold, and it made her words land like stones.
Volt's jaw tightened. "He's not broken."
"Not yet," PS replied, her voice devoid of malice but heavy with pragmatism. "But we don't know what they did to him. We don't know what's in his head now."
She turned to The Doctor. "When will he be conscious?"
"Another 48 hours at least," The Doctor replied. "His body is responding well, but I'm keeping him sedated. Too much too soon could destabilize him."
PS nodded curtly. "Good. Once he's awake, I want a full psychological evaluation. If he's not fit for duty…"
After PS left, The Doctor stayed, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she turned back to the team.
"She's not wrong," The Doctor said quietly. "But she's also not entirely right. People don't just bounce back from what Dagger's been through. It's not going to be a linear process. He'll have good days and bad days. You all need to be prepared for that."
---
As she floated in her own chamber, the dull ache in her ribs subsiding, she thought about Dagger's condition. Volt and Tank tried to hide it, but she could tell this isn't a normal situation for Dagger. Maybe he is a lot more powerful. Is he the second S class? If he really was as powerful as all of others hinted to him, and he was left like this, then what will become of someone like her? She managed to get hurt even in a group mission, and not only once.
Her mind wandered back to the mission, the split-second decisions, the way Dagger had looked at her with such focus even in his battered state.
The pod's soothing hum lulled her into a light doze, but one thought lingered in her mind.
They had saved him this time. But how much longer could any of them survive this life?