Medical Center.
When Adam saw that Leatherface had no intention of hurting anyone, he waited until the man set down the chainsaw, took it from him, handed it to the arriving security guards, and began examining the wound.
"Carter!"
"The tibial nerve has been severed. There's nothing to save. It can only be amputated."
Carter stepped forward in a daze, looked at the horrific wound, and spoke.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
The middle-aged Black man lying there raised an eyebrow at Carter, a relieved smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"..."
Carter's mouth twitched.
What the hell was wrong with this guy?
"This is my patient."
Only then did Cristina come back to herself. She stepped forward and asked the patient, "What exactly is going on with you?"
"I told you, I want an amputation."
The Black man smiled. "If you wouldn't help me, I had no choice but to do it myself."
"But that was a perfectly healthy leg!"
Cristina was speechless. "You're completely insane!"
"That's just your opinion."
The Black man spoke with great philosophical gravity. "As if it were fated all along—having a body that won't obey you, spending your whole life walking around with weak legs... that would be the truly crazy thing!"
"On drugs?"
Adam asked.
"No."
Cristina shook her head. "I only gave him a little morphine for the pain. His earlier toxicology screen was negative."
"Page Dr. Torres."
Adam glanced at the thoroughly severed lower leg. "And get a psychiatrist down from upstairs while you're at it."
"I'm not crazy!"
The Black man shook his head. "I work at a bank."
"A lot of crazy people say that."
Cristina quipped, "Did your bank go bankrupt, or did you get fired? Did you do this because you couldn't take it