Let's Start with the Left Hand Surgery
The glowing red Crystal Orb meant a bluebird. It was the signal from Ollie, who managed the ambulances always waiting in front of the dungeon. I dropped my meal and bolted out of the staff lounge.
"Hyung! Bluebird! Bluebird patient!"
"This the patient? Status?"
I raced up the emergency stairs to the first floor, where Ollie was wheeling in a patient on a stretcher. I snatched the Crystal Orb report from him and scanned the vitals and consciousness level.
Finger amputation?
Pulling the stretcher toward the elevator with Ollie, I spotted the patient's left hand stuffed inside a Subspace Pouch.
The top priority in finger amputations is hemostasis. Putting the severed part in a Subspace Pouch, where time doesn't pass, stops the bleeding perfectly. First aid handled right.
Adults often lose fingers in industrial accidents. But even grown-ups panic from the intense pain and blood loss—patient and guardians alike. Two things to never forget: hemostasis and preserving the finger for reattachment.
"Severed part in the Subspace Pouch too?"
"Yeah! It is!"
In the modern world without Subspace Pouches, gauze is best for hemostasis. No gauze in an emergency? Press the stump firmly with a clean handkerchief. Elevate the hand above heart level to constrict vessels for better control.
"Fracture from fall, mild dehydration—nothing else major. Let's move."
"But hyung—"
Finger or hand amputations seem rare, but before isekai, over 11,000 people suffered traumatic wrist or hand amputations yearly.
Even kids under 10—over 300 a year. Drunks slamming taxi doors, that sort of thing.
Amputations feel uncommon but lurk everywhere. Most know bleeding demands hemostasis now.
But no hemostatic agents. They interfere with surgery.
Preservation matters post-accident. Contamination inevitable—rinse with normal saline first. Wrap in moist gauze or cloth, seal in waterproof plastic bag or container, then double-bag in ice water. No direct ice contact.
Some watch TV emergency shows, remember "ice," and dump the finger in an ice-packed bag like market fish. Don't. Direct ice causes frostbite and tissue damage.
No ice? Ice pack works—aim for around 4°C.
Some think rinsing vital, douse in soju or bottle it. Never. Alcohol damages tissue—use saline. No saline at home or work? Clean water. Just no booze.
Tic-tic-tic—
"Hyuuung! Miner hyung!"
"What? Anything beyond the report?"
Reattachment golden window: 6-12 hours. Sooner better, but good preservation stretches to 24, even 36 hours without issues.
Unknown side effects from long Subspace Pouch storage, though. Faster surgery safer.
Per report, over 10 hours since amputation. Pressing elevator button urgently, Ollie called again.
"This isn't the last! More behind!"
"Behind? Ha—"
I turned at his words, sighing deeply. Five or six adventurers, wrists—including both sometimes—stuffed in Subspace Pouches, tied with string.
"All amputation patients?"
"Not all! Jeff's bringing more! Ambulance max seven—I had to hustle before Wind Tower gets them!"
"What the... Just bring everyone!"
"Miner hyung!"
"Jeff?!"
Ollie handed off the stretcher and dashed out as Jeff boomed in from the Cash Shop, cave-deep voice rumbling.
I gaped. He stacked adventurers like luggage on a stretcher, wheeling them in.
"Are you insane? Stacking patients like that?!"
"Grahaha! Fine! Amputees! All adventurers—bodies intact! Stack 'em, faster transport!"
Only Jeff and Ollie, dungeon rescue crew, pulled stunts like this. Should scold him for Jenga-tower of seven adventurers, but priority: move to ORs. More coming.
"Gently unload! All amputees? Why so many?"
"Dungeon crabs got 'em."
"Dungeon crabs?"
Dungeon crabs: bipedal crustacean monsters, viciously aggressive. Armored shells make them tough. But adventurers dread them most for deliberate finger-severing cruelty—not instant kills. They mock writhing victims with creepy laughs.
Not why I was shocked.
"Report says sub-level 6 injury? Dungeon crabs live sub-11? Level 6's desert with occasional oases, right?"
"Dunno why. They all said crabs!"
Dungeon mobs stick to floors like game enemies. Lower-floor monsters invading upper? Unheard of.
"Moving these to ORs first. Take Walter, fetch the rest. Can't let Wind Tower quacks touch them."
"Got it, hyung! With front-waiting patients, about twenty total!"
"Twenty? Damn."
No time for whys—surgeries first. Sent Jeff off, guided patients to elevator.
"Everyone off stretchers, into elevator. Moving now."
"Urgh..."
"You can really reattach severed fingers?"
"Depends. Move first."
Subspace Pouch solves bleeding, not pain. Not medical— no anesthesia or relief.
"Director! Ready!"
"Rescheduled regulars. Stella finishing double-eyelid in ten!"
OR floor doors opened; Rebecca and Hazel supported patients.
"Hazel, triage by severity. Rebecca, with me to OR."
"Yes, Director!"
"Patients, follow me this way!"
Hazel led them; I scrubbed in, hit OR with Rebecca—prepped.
Hazel entered suited up moments later.
"Patient 1, male, Chester, 25. Right hand: index, middle, ring fully severed. Index and middle clean; ring crushed by crab pincer."
"Good. Stella in, we start—"
"Director! Left hand needs surgery too!"
"Left?"
Rebecca gloved as Hazel continued.
"Yes. Blocked rotating pincer—skin nearly stripped from left wrist."
"Hell. Skin recovered?"
"Lucky—Subspace Pouch right away."
Microsurgery tough under microscope. Crushed ring demands focus. But flayed hand skin? Grimace inevitable.
Sounds like machinery degloving—palm or dorsal side stripped.
"Damn! Fingers first. Stella when? Hazel, fetch patient. Starting now."
"Sorry late! With patient. Male, Chester, 25—"
"Know. No more explanation. Check wounds. BPB anesthesia on patient."
"Yes!"
Report: Chester ate steadily for stamina. Emergency limits to BPB—Brachial Plexus Block. Inject nerves from neck to armpit, unlike general.
"Anesthetized!"
"Good. Check both sites pre-incision. Left hand first."
"Yes!"
Right fingers priority, but left hand nagged—from Pouch still. Rebecca eased it out post-anesthesia; witches gasped, recoiled.
"Snap out! Not in front of patient!"
"S-sorry."
"Sorry, Director."
"Sorry..."
Understood their reaction. Hand skinned like peeled rubber glove. Thumb and middle severed—not minor.
"Ha... Left hand. Let's start with the left hand surgery."