Chapter 1

Three figures occupied a cluttered room that resembled a mechanic's workshop, with machine parts scattered in every nook and cranny.

"Dad, should I tighten the prosthetic legs a little? They seem kinda loose," Junior inquired.

"Let me take a look at it," replied White.

White strode over to his son and a man lying on the operating table. He inspected the man two robot legs, then turned to his son, nodding. "Yes, you should tighten it a little, but not too tight."

"Okay, Dad," replied Junior, his face lighting up with joy as he began tightening the mechanical legs of the man.

"When's the last time you oiled and greased your legs, Charles?" White inquired, his gaze focused on the man lying on the operating table.

"It's been a while, maybe a couple of months," Charles admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Living downtown, you gotta hustle to survive. Weekly maintenance on my legs? Ain't got the time for it, White. You understand, right?"

White sighed deeply, his brow furrowing with concern. He turned to Junior, a request in his eyes. "Junior, can you give us a moment alone?" he asked softly.

"Okay, Dad," Junior said, setting down his tools and returning them to the toolbox before stepping out of the operating room.

Seeing his son depart, White turned to Charles, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you realize the risk you're taking? Picture this: you're lugging a crate of machine parts, and suddenly your legs give out. Those parts crashing down could be fatal, Charles," he cautioned.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, White exhaled heavily before pressing on. "Please, Charles, I've always warned you. Consider your wife and kids. Do you want to leave them behind?" he pleaded.

With a heavy heart, Charles nodded solemnly. "No, sir. I'll make sure to prioritize my leg maintenance from now on," he promised, his expression reflecting the weight of the conversation.

"Thanks, Charles," White said with a grateful nod.

"You can hop off the operating table now. I've finished up fixing your legs. And please, on your way out, remind my son to bring in the next batch of patients, Charles," White instructed.

"Thanks a lot, White. You've really been a godsend in this small town. I can't even imagine what would've happened to us and the others who lost limbs in the war if you hadn't come along and given us hope," Charles expressed his gratitude sincerely.

"You're too kind, Mister White," Charles added as he made his way out of the operating room.

"I ain't no saint. My hands are stained with the blood of the innocent," White muttered to himself, his voice heavy with the weight of his past actions.

—---------

"Phew, I think that's the last of the patients we have for today, dad," Junior exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Junior waited, but his dad remained engrossed in his notebook, seemingly oblivious to everything else. Junior's heart sank as he realized his father's attention was elsewhere, buried in his work.

"Dad!" Junior called out, his voice tinged with frustration.

Startled, his dad looked up, a mixture of surprise and guilt flickering across his face.

"What's wrong, Junior?" he asked, his voice betraying his distraction.

"Dad, I was trying to talk to you," Junior said, concern evident in his tone. "Did something happen? You seemed lost in thought."

"Nothing happened, son," White replied, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

"Hey, son, looks like we need to restock our materials and medicine. Can you go to Becky's store downtown?" White's voice was gentle yet firm, carrying a sense of urgency.

White tore a piece of paper from his notepad and handed it to his son. "Take this and give it to her. It's the list of items and equipment that we need to restock before tomorrow," he instructed, his tone unwavering in its directive.

"But, dad, it's kinda late. Can't we wait until tomorrow?" Junior grumbled.

"No, it can't wait, junior. Imagine if we have a patient early tomorrow morning and we're missing crucial treatment items," White stressed.

"Fine, I'll do it," grumbled Junior as he trudged out of the room.

—------

Junior ambled down the cracked sidewalks of downtown, lost in his own thoughts.

"Old man always caring about his patients more than his own son," Junior muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

"I miss Mom," he added, his words heavy with sorrow.

"Hey, kid!" a voice called out to Junior.

Although he heard the man's voice, Junior opted to ignore it, forging ahead with determined steps.

"Please, kid, I am dying. I need help, please help me," cried out the man, his voice strained with desperation.

"I am sorry, mister, but my dad told me not to talk to strangers, sir," said junior, his pace quickening as he walked, a sense of unease creeping over him.

"Please, kid, help me," pleaded the man, his coughs echoing through the quiet street.

Hearing the man's desperate cries and the sound of his coughing, junior hesitated. He pondered, "What would dad do? Would he leave him to suffer or lend a hand?"

"Give me a break," muttered junior under his breath as he reluctantly turned around, retracing his steps back to where he had heard the man's pleas.

Arriving at the scene, Junior's heart raced as he took in the dire situation before him. The man lay there, his body mangled, limbs detached, a testament to the perilous predicament he found himself in. It was a wonder he managed to summon help at all.

"Just hold on, I'll be right back," Junior exclaimed, urgency lacing his voice.

"Thank you, kid," the man replied through gritted teeth, his face contorted with pain.

After what seemed like an eternity, Junior returned, wielding a robotic wheelbarrow. With its remote-controlled functionality and extended robot hands, it was the perfect aid. Gently, Junior lifted the man and placed him into the remote control wheelbarrow while he rushes towards home in a hurry.