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What to do next, Kiparis. Well, the stinging in your shoulder is turning to a dull ache, which is a bad sign. Better get that tended to. Then some sleep, then breakfast even if you’re still tired. And then who knows, maybe you could pay a visit to Julia or Kofe. Or maybe both.

“Not bloody likely,” I thought, probably just to ease my conscience for seriously considering it for a moment.

When I closed my eyes I could see the trajectories of projectiles in my mind’s eye. The internal ballistics of a rimmed cartridge failing to feed, external ballistics of the next round travelling through the air at 828 meters per second, terminal ballistics of the steel-core bullet when it hit a target that had never existed. I definitely needed sleep. After using up the remainder of my time in silence, I excused myself, finished my beer, and headed upstairs.

I followed Vladmir’s instructions to the letter, heading up the stupidly wide stairs and making for the third door down the hall on my immediate left. I wasn’t looking forward to the operation. It’s funny how I wasn’t looking forward to something that could potentially save my life, but people are weird like that.

No screaming or cries of “What do you mean you’re a hemophiliac?!” came from beyond the door as I approached. A good sign, I suppose? The door opened before I could knock, and a thin man just as pasty as me came stumbling out. He was wearing sunglasses not suitable for a job that required completely clear vision while operating, a plain white jacket that I really hoped wasn’t supposed to be his attempt at a medical uniform, and a surgeon’s mask that looked like it should have been thrown out a month ago.

“I-are you the on-staff doctor?” I asked, with a bit of an undertone of “Oh please God please say no.”

“Yes, but I’m busy. What is it?”

“I-.”

“Gah, there’s no time!” he yelled. He was actually upset. “I really need to go get drunk, or how am I supposed to have the energy to treat patients tomorrow?!”

“I have money,” came my response, once I remembered how the world worked.

“What’s the problem?” A wistful sigh, and an immediate about-face.

“I’ve been shot. It’s a minor wound but I don’t want it to turn into something serious.”

“Fine, come inside.”

His office looked a little like a proper hospital setting, to my surprise. There was good-quality if rather old equipment and ample supplies of tools, reference books, opiates, improvised plant-based medicines, and miscellaneous prescriptions. He even had a cheap old Windows 98 computer that was still working, probably by now built entirely of restored or cannibalized parts. The medical charts on the wall showed his areas of speciality, and I was very relieved to see that they all related to humans and not animals. Another good omen.

“So, that shoulder there, I take it?” he asked, indicating my bandaged arm, to which I nodded in response. “Alrighty then, my friend. I don’t know how bad it is but I’ll take you on your word that it’s not serious, since you don’t seem to be in an inordinate amount of pain. It’ll be four hundred rubles, no refund if you die partway through.”

We haggled for a bit and, after deciding that the old maps I’d taken from the place I’d escaped from were probably worth at least four hundred rubles, the operation began. Tobacco generates a mild high, combining effects of both a stimulant and a depressant, but it doesn’t compare to morphine. Dangerous thinking like that is common in this day and age, I know. He began extracting the fragments with me sitting up on the table, since he affirmed that my assessment about the severity of it had been correct. All I had to do was take my shirt off and try to focus on the numbed, almost-audible hum in my head. I was unable to keep myself from watching him work a few times; it was interesting, how much strength was required from the surgeon even for minor procedures.

“I’m impressed," he said to me in turn. "Were you military? You know how to relax your muscles and tense them to aid in the extraction of foreign objects.”

“Well-“

“Huh, you see this? Hold out your palm” he said, showing me what must have been the largest fragment of the bullet before dropping it into my hand. It was still bloody, so I wasn’t altogether pleased. “Keep that if you like. Guess what caliber it is, and I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

“9x18mm?” I asked, a literal shot in the dark.

“5.45,” he corrected me.

“What?!”

“A 5.45x18mm pocket pistol round, not the rifle bullet. If that were the case we’d have an unstable wounding channel and I’d probably have to amputate. They call that one ‘the poison bullet’ for a reason.”

“The 5.45x18mm bullet was only ever in limited use, usually with people who needed a holdout or concealed carry handgun with excellent armor penetration, right?” I thought on this. “It was still only used by government officials, spies, and police and such. I doubt a guard or someone else who needed a full-sized handgun would have been issued one.”

“Also, don’t forget the Stechkin automatic handgun,” the doc said. It took me a moment to realize he was answering my spoken statement. “But you’d be riddled with bullets if that was the case.”

“Huh.”

“There. Good as new.” He almost patted me on the shoulder before realizing what a mistake that would be.

“Huh?”

“All fragments are extracted, and you’ll be pleased to hear that the damage was minimal. I can tell you were smart and didn’t try anything crazy with that arm after getting hit.” I didn’t tell him that was true, if he didn’t count climbing up an elevator shaft.

“Are there any exercises I should do, or things I should avoid?”

“Asides from all the obvious stuff, not particularly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to curl up like a hollowed-out shrimp and decompose unless I get something to drink.”

He left me there in his office. I could have swiped a bunch of painkillers right then and there, but I was too honest. And more importantly, he would have probably realized, and he definitely would have known on whose door he needed to come knocking. Suddenly I smacked myself on the head.
I’d almost forgotten that I was staying at this inn now! I’d paid for a room and I was allowed to sleep in it. Passing out on the bed felt like a really good idea right now.