"Right, let's hope whatever that thing is it doesn't lead someone here who we just don't want to be here," Corliss says, still aiming the weapon down at Mike. He looks up at the bartender. "Listen, mate. 'e's going to die if we don't help him right away. Can you do anything for 'im?"
The bartender dries a glass and watches Corliss patiently, turning to look at Mike. He blinks.
"Um, Corliss, you know, that isn't exactly something for nothing," Myitt says warily.
Black ooze bubbles out from between the wooden planks of the floor, hissing and snapping and turning into black vapor. It seeps around Mike, into his nostrils, curling around his hair, seeping into his wounds. The bouncer hovers there like a fog, seeming to assess the damage.
In a few moments, some of Mike's wounds start to seal up--not heal completely, but reach a level at which they're no longer life-threatening. The bleeding in his internal organs and his skull eases, then stops, then clears away. He can at least breathe more easily, his broken ribs quickly producing bone morphogenic protein and sealing their fractures. His splintered arm bones reseal and grow strong again. Burns from the collar's electricity ease and heal, red swollen flesh vanishing. In the end what was a massive amount of surgery has become a few bruises and lacerations where bones had once poked through skin.
The bouncer hovers there, hesitating. It leaves Mike's body and swirls around the floor like a thin grey mist, tingling the skin of anyone it touches.
Myitt backs away from it, sitting on a bar seat and wincing. "Yeah, look, my arm's fine, buddy," she says nervously. "It'll heal in its own damn time."
The bouncer doesn't appear to make any sort of reply, it just melts around the floor...as if it's considering what to do next.
