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Bart There is a tiny black note posted in the Clinic on neat cardstock with silvered lettering. Because Knox. It basically gave the residence address of the Mad Doctor Bartholomew, known as Bart to most. He has his lap and med bay set up in the attic of his home and one must merely arrive and ring the bell before tromping up the stairs to be taken care of. When Davidson gets there the place is gleaming and bright and Bart is running around in his nice suit under his lab coat, spectacles under his goggles. He's currently tinkering on a car engine looking thing on a frame, fixing things up.
Davidson As for Davidson? The man looks like he's been put through the ringer; rough bandages wrapped around his head to staunch the bleeding of a scalp wound, limping a bit as he comes up to the front door of the place. A pause at the entrance, perhaps because everything looks clean and shiny - the opposite of where the explorer usually goes and then he hits the bell, making his way up those stairs. He cranes his neck inside. Hm. Car engine. "...this the doctor's?"
Bart Bart looks up from his work, wrenches and tools in hand and all around. He blinks slowly from behind those tinted goggles and then nods once. "Sort of. I can heal you though!" He notes before cheerily pushing away his project and standing up right. Moving around to one of the medicine beds, he pulls back a new fresh sheet. The device that is suspended above is reached for and tugged down slightly to get it warmed up. A monitor on a rolling stand is brought around and he notes, "Please remove all metal from your person, kindly lay down and then wear this," he hands the man a rather heavy eyepillow of sorts.
Davidson Davidson regards the other man with a somewhat dubious expression-- 'sort of' doesn't inspire confidence, it seems. "Alright," he shrugs then--wincing a bit as the movement pulls something--and shrugs off his rifle, then his armoured vest, setting them down. Then his hip pack. Then his knife. It takes awhile before he's gotten all the metal off himself, honestly. "So, uh," he asks, squinting at the machine as he takes the pillow, "What is this thing?"
Bart Bart is humming a jaunty little toon and working around Davidson as he gets himself prepared. "This? This is a Synchrotron, better known as a particle accelerator." He is enamoured clearly. "I will be applying a basic cellulose structure to your wounds and then bombarding them with aggitated particles to rapidly force them into forming skin. Your new skin," he explains even as he kind of nudges Davidson along and into the med-bed. "Put the pillow over your eyes, unless you really want to see the world in a different color for the rest of your life!" His jokes are terrible, but he laughs anyways. It's kind of manic. Does he associate much with anyone? Bringing the mechanical arm mounted engine-looking thing, it was an engine at one point, now with tubes and modules, dials and switches - and /lenses/. Oh the pristine glass that sits inside of the device, aimed directly at Davidson.
Davidson "This is... safe, right?" Davidson - somewhat reluctantly - gets onto the bed, lifting the pillow over his eyes despite his strong misgivings with the entire situation. Still, if the man was just murdering people with weird machines, someone would've stopped him, right?
Bart Clearly there haven't been enough rumors about the screams heard from Crazy Bart's attic. I mean what?

"Completely!" Bart says completely clinically, as if that would reassure someone while applying the unguent. Switches are flicked, a light starts up inside of the machine as things churn and start getting faster by the second. The thing hums and vibrates a little right before the air pressure in the room drops suddenly, making ears pop before a dull THWUMP is /felt/ and particles slam through the lenses at Davidsons injured body. Those same spots smeared in goop are shot with laser precision by that beam of light. Course Davidson shouldn't be seeing any of this if he's doing what he was told. It burns. Like a thousand bees, or the worst sunburn, it is searing hot. For seconds, or was it minutes. And then it's over and the machine is winding down with pinging metal as it cools.
Davidson There's absolutely nothing reassuring about Bart's response. As the machine starts to hum, and as his ears pop, Davidson starts to seriously reconsider his life choices. Just about to get uup-- there's that solid TWHUMP of sound and pressure, and he lets out a short (?) agonized scream as the particles burn through him, releasing it in startled panting afterwards.

"...the /fuck/ was that?" Fumbling for the eye pillow to toss it off. Oddly he actually -is- feeling better.
Bart Bart lifts his goggles up to squint at the still smoldering points where the lasers had fixed flesh and mended muscle. His mouth twitches side to side for a second and then he just shrugs, "Science," in the most matter of fact tone he can muster. "Your pee may be strange colors for a few days, but it'll pass," he assures the man and pats him on the shoulder before carefully taking the lead-lined eyeblinders and pushing the arm back up to the ceiling where a fan helps cool the metal down. "Please leave your caps in the tin on your way out, thank you!"
Davidson Davidson grabs the edge of the bed and slowly swings his legs over to the side, squinting up at the machine. "...I'll keep an eye out for that, yeah," he allows warily, pushing himself up to his full height, "Thanks, doc. I think, anyway."