Chapter 213: Emergency Treatment

Is this an attempt to buy back her freedom? Henry guessed.

In any case, it couldn't possibly be resolved by offering herself in marriage; otherwise, the problem would be much simpler.

Or does she want to use this debt of gratitude to control him? That would be too beautiful a fantasy.

Henry's gaze swept past to a nearby unlucky soul being bled out by the medics. The legitimate surgeon on the scene had his own hands full with emergency cases and couldn't come over to help. It looked like the patient was about to be killed by that incompetent hack.

Pointing at the person being resuscitated, Henry said, "I can handle this." With that, he walked over and shoved the medic aside.

Seeing this, the Russian mob accomplices looked ready to stop Henry's actions. But none of them were faster than Henry.

Only to see the hemostat probe inside, followed by the forceps. By the time the forceps emerged, the bullet that had shot into the body was already clamped out and placed on the metal tray.

As for the bleeding, it was just that an unusually large amount of blood had already gushed out, making it look a bit terrifying. But the bleeding had already stopped; this could be seen from the change in blood volume at the wound.

Those Russian mob brutes who had tried to block him were momentarily stuck, unable to advance or retreat, staring at one another in silence.

The hemostat could be fixed in place, rendering the forceps useless. Henry let go of his hand and said to the medic he had previously shoved aside, "The bleeding has stopped. After sucking out the pooled blood, cauterization or ligation will allow for suturing. You know how to do this, right?"

Without waiting to see if the medic wanted to take over, Henry went straight back to his original position.

Immediately, someone from the Russian mob rushed out, shouting, "If you can save them, why don't you continue?"

This person was tall, nearly six feet three inches, with a relatively slender build. His face bore a touch of weariness, and his eyes held a hint of melancholy; he was the kind of person who stood out in a crowd, a typical handsome Slavic man.

Henry certainly wouldn't be turned gay by someone like that. He simply rubbed his fingers together in a mercenary manner and said with a smile, "I have no obligation to save people. But for you, I don't mind paid assistance. You understand what I mean, right?"

The person who had jumped out didn't look like the leader of the Russian mob. Yet he was quite generous when it came to saving his comrades, directly pulling a handful of gold coins from his pocket and placing them on the table, saying, "One gold coin per person saved."

Henry pretended not to understand, picked up a gold coin to examine it, and even weighed it in his hand. He asked, "This doesn't look like an official American Eagle gold coin, nor does it resemble any antique gold coin. Does it contain one ounce of gold?"

The American Eagle gold coin is an official coin minted by the United States Mint starting in 1986, available in four sizes, with legal tender values of five, ten, twenty-five, and fifty dollars respectively. The gold content is around 91%, with the remainder being silver and copper.

In an era of low gold prices, it was a gimmick to earn a price difference through commemorative value. Didn't you see that in the future, they stopped minting them once the gold value exceeded the face value?

However, the American Eagle gold coin features the Statue of Liberty on the front and two bald eagles, the national bird of the United States, on the back.

The gold coin in Henry's hand, on the other hand, depicts a blindfolded goddess holding a sword and shield in her right hand and a sprig of mint in her left, suspected to be Athena, surrounded by a laurel wreath. Above it is the Latin inscription 'Ex_UnitaeVires', meaning 'Unity is Strength'.

The back features the same sword and shield as a background, with a male lion in the foreground. It also bears the Latin inscription 'Ens_Causa_Sui', meaning '(Something) originates from itself'. Behind it is a string of Roman numerals, 'MCMLXXXIII', indicating the minting year of 1983.

The Slavic handsome man who produced the gold coin said, "No, this is a coin of the High Table. One gold coin, one promise. In my world, this is a currency more useful than the US dollar."

"Oh, then can I use this gold coin to ask you to do something for me?" Henry asked.

"I also have the power to choose whether to accept or not."

"Hmm~" Henry put the gold coin in his hand into his pocket, picked up a pair of rubber gloves from the side, and put them on. He finished up the patient from whom he had extracted the bullet and stopped the bleeding, including the final suturing of the wound.

As for the minor injuries on other parts of the body, those needing sutures were sutured, and those not needing them were covered with Band-Aids. The actions were fast, yet still within the realm of human capability; one simply had to stop treating the people under one's hands as living beings.

After the injuries were treated, those who had received morphine were allowed to rest, while those who hadn't received a shot of morphine were given one.

After completing the emergency treatment for one person, Henry picked up another gold coin and turned to the next person.

Of course, he didn't pick the easy cases, those who were already in good shape after the hotel medics had handled them; instead, he sought out those who couldn't wait for a proper doctor to step in, cases the medics couldn't handle, and people on the verge of death.

He didn't change his gloves or instruments either; Henry just made sure he wouldn't get infected by the blood. As for whether the patients he treated would cause cross-infection due to some infectious disease, he didn't care; after all, everyone here played by those rules.

When compared with other personnel, Henry's seemingly efficient speed appeared somewhat abnormal.

Although his hand speed looked like that of an experienced physician, with not a trace of hesitation in his actions, and the suturing and threading were quite rapid, it was still within the range of normal humans.

However, the reason Henry's movements were faster than others was that other medics had to figure out how to find the bullet inside the wound; if there was bleeding, they also had to locate the bleeding point. If their skills were slightly lacking, rummaging around inside someone's body could literally kill a person from pain.

But Henry, possessing X-ray vision, was accurate with every strike, with no unnecessary movements. This saved a lot of time compared to others.

Then came the suturing, ligation, morphine administration, and knocking them out—a one-stop service. All the injured were completely compliant, not uttering a single extra word.

So much so that after Henry finished rescuing three people, the doctor attached to the Continental Hotel was still treating the patient he had originally selected.

Actually, it wasn't that the old doctor's movements were too slow; rather, the unlucky soul under his care had been shot several times in different parts of the body. As the only person on the scene receiving a blood transfusion, one could imagine how severe his condition was.

This is how the underworld operates: when someone can be saved, you cannot easily give up on a brother, otherwise, one day you might be the one who is given up on. Otherwise, according to emergency standards, such a person would have been ranked last, with priority given to those with a greater chance of survival.

There weren't actually many unlucky souls who had been shot; the handling by most medics was also quite appropriate. Regardless, as a sanctuary for assassins and a task agency, the surgical medical staff under the Continental Hotel were indeed quite capable.

The unlucky souls Henry selected were those with particularly tricky bullet wounds; this was why he stepped in to rescue them, and the pushed-aside medics had no objections. Otherwise, he, as someone poaching business, would have been kicked out long ago.

However, there was still one person whose post-shooting treatment had not been completed, because several consecutive medics had been scolded away by him.

Henry followed the Slavic man who had produced the gold coins to the side of this old man who had been shot.

(End of this chapter)