The camera focuses on Michael's, the elder of the two, face, a gritted, pained expression etched across it, beads of sweat still soaking his brow and face. He bites his bottom lip fiercely and shouts out.
(Michael): Bastards…
The camera pans out to reveal a local EMT, pouring iodine onto the open stab wound on Michael's shoulder blade and dabbing it with a cotton ball. He screws his face up at the touch of the burning liquid against his bloody and maimed skin as Gabriel inspects his very bloody nose in a mirror, pulling out two cotton buds from either nostril and tossing the red-tinted rags into nearby receptor.
(Gabriel): Yes, that was certainly a lot different compared to what we've experienced in the Indy leagues.
The medic finishes his examination and dressing of Michael's wound.
(Medic): Well that's you cleared up, sir. You were lucky I was able to disinfect this so early on otherwise it might've developed into a staph infection. Just keep it bandaged it up for about a week or two, and change the dressing every two days whilst remembering to use an antiseptic spray to sterilise it before applying the new dressing.
Michael nods affirmatively, craning his neck over to his left shoulder, trying to get as good a view as he can of his bandaged wound before rotating his arm and shoulder in a couple of full circles, testing his mobility.
(Michael): Thanks for that doc, much appreciated.
(Medic): Whoever did that must have certainly had it in for you.
Michael smiles ironically, a light chortle escaping through his nose.
(Michael): Not really, just a borderline sociopath.
He glances over at Gabriel who is still fiddling with his nose in front of the small wall-mounted mirror.
(Michael): Whilst you're here, would you mind taking a look at my brother?
(Medic): Certainly, what seems to be the problem?
Gabriel turns around, his broken nose sticking out like a sore thumb. He replies in a dry sarcastic tone.
(Gabriel): I walked into a door…
The medic laughs nervously before approaching Gabriel. The severe size difference makes for an intimidating presence for the much smaller EMT and he clears his throat before speaking.
(Medic): Would you mind just taking a seat on the bed there so I can get a better look.
Gabriel acknowledges the medic's request, taking a seated position on the bed adjacent to him and the medic cups his face in his gloved hands, inspecting the break at close range.
(Medic): You should count yourself lucky, looks like a clean break to me. I'm going to ask to stay completely still. This might a little bit painful and your eyes might weep a little.
(Gabriel): I've had worse. Just get it over and done with.
(Medic): Just stay still, I'm going to pinch the bridge of your nose and you'll feel a very definite jerk.
A sickening crack of bone and cartilage sounds off causing Michael to cringe instinctively and a lion-esque roar blares out of Gabriel's mouth as a jet of blood and body fluid squirts out of his nose aswell.
(Gabriel): That was….pleasant…
Gabriel contorts his face; tentatively touching the bridge of his nose now back in place and wipes the excess blood accumulating around his nose and mouth with the back of his hand.
(Medic): You might find some discomfort and pain afterwards but just take some painkillers for a couple of days and it should be just fine.
(Gabriel): Thanks for that.
Michael and Gabriel both leave the first aid room, and Hans von Richtoven's theme music can be vaguely heard in the main body of the arena.
(Michael): Sounds like Hans has won his match already, he's turning out to be quite the World Champion.
Gabriel nods in agreement and smears away another trickle of blood from his nose as they head back to their locker room.
(Gabriel): Speaking of champions, how long do you think it'll take for the powers that be to give us a damn title match now? I mean how much more do they want us to do?
(Michael): I can't imagine it being too much longer, brother. DNA think we want immediate satisfaction and are still bleating on like sheep about how beat them. Well tonight I think we proved why we deserve a shot at those belts, don’t you?
(Gabriel): Who cares what Anton and Davis think anyway? We've already proved ourselves against practically every pairing the HWA can throw at us and now we've been in the ring with Shakir and Evers and managed to hold our own pretty good.
(Michael): I did feel bad for Logan though. A tremendous competitor that guy is, such a shame he didn't have Talon to make it even but the important thing is the result and I think if we had any doubters about our abilities, then they were most definitely laid to rest after that.
(Gabriel): TNT is not going to be happy about it. I can see their promo now, prophesising about downfalls, being lucky and all that jazz.
(Michael): No doubt, but we'll chew that food when we have to. We've done our piece tonight so let's just enjoy it for the moment and we'll worry about TNT tomorrow.
(Gabriel): Amen to that.
The two brothers continue conversing casually amongst one another as they enter their locker room and the scene concludes, fading to black.
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