Sly peeled back the protective cover of the slap patch, applied it to the bullet wound in her left forearm. The patch stung for an instant, the way it always did. Then the sting faded, taking with it the sharp, throbbing pain. Thank god for slap patches, she thought, pressing on it to make sure the adhesive held. Already she could taste the familiar flavor of olives as the DMSO—dimethyl sulfoxide—in the patch absorbed into her bloodstream, bringing with it the painkillers, energizers, and antibacterial agents that would start the healing process. She hated the taste in her mouth—always had—but she’d certainly gotten used to it over the years.