Somewhere in the Middle East.

 Mercy was no longer working in those state of the art facilities she’d gotten used to since leaving medical school and the various organizations she worked for, but that didn’t make her any less committed to her cause. If anything, it made her work harder - she didn’t have the easier options of more advanced technology to save lives, she had to rely on her extensive medical knowledge and some quick thinking.

It led to some unorthodox methods, but considering the lives she was saving, the people of this small, war-torn village were grateful for the presence of Dr. Angela Ziegler. Families had tried to pay her with whatever they had, which wasn’t much, and she always turned it away. If she had been in this for the money, she never would have left Switzerland, and instead would have remained there as a surgeon, operating on the privileged with cutting-edge technology.

She’d always wanted to get into medicine, but to help people, not to get rich. This was far more rewarding, helping these villages who had so little in the way of resources and payment alike. They were the ones who truly needed brilliant minds and steady hands such as hers. As much as she abhorred the violence that caused her patients to have need of her in the first place, she was determined to keep them alive when they were brought under her care. Even if it meant they were going to go back to fighting once they were well.

Someone had to do it. Better her than someone who might try to take advantage of the situation.

Every day was much of the same, and while Angela found her work worthwhile, she had to admit it was somewhat draining. There was little hope that the bloodshed might end, and it seemed as though the opposition was finding more horrific ways to inflict harm on the insurgents in this village.

When she could sleep at night, nightmares often plagued her. It wasn’t affecting her work, at least not yet, but she worried about the possibility. She couldn’t perform at less than 100 percent - lives depended on her. How long could she keep this up? Would she need to take time away? She was reluctant, but if she was going to put her patience in danger due to incompetence, she owed it to them to give herself a break.

“Dr. Ziegler, we need you in the infirmary, there’s a–” Her thoughts were interrupted by the deep voice of the man who’d been assigned as her assistant, his English accented, but well practiced. He was tall and dark, a local man who’d been fortunate enough to leave home long enough to receive higher education. Like Angela, he knew his people needed help, and while he was suspicious of Mercy at first, she quickly gained his trust after their first few patients together.

“What is it?” Angela asked, noticing the man’s pause. Fathi was usually a direct man, to the point. He didn’t often mince words or waste time beating around the bush. Something had to be wrong.

Fathi shook his head, turning and motioning for the blonde to follow him. “You will see.”

Mercy braced herself for the worst, and yet she still wasn’t prepared for the sight of the bloody girl on their makeshift gurney. She was tiny, probably malnourished, which made it difficult to peg her age, but that was far less important than assessing the girl’s injuries. Fathi was explaining what had happened, mentioning something about a bomb that had gone off. No one else had been injured, except for this girl, who had been too close to the blast zone whilst hiding from her brother. Children at play, nearly a deadly activity.

One day Angela would need to remove herself from this hell on earth to find peace again, but not today. She had work to do.