The escape from potential police and superhero pursuit had gone rather smoothly for Killercide. Or at least as smoothly as one could hope when they were leaving a faint trail of blood along the floor in their wake. Marcus had managed to slip out of costume after finding his street clothes in the duffle bag where he'd left it in a nearby alleyway, before using a few of his emergency wraps to clean up and temporarily restrict the bleeding. From there, he'd made his way toward the home of a local doctor, Mr. Kirkpatrick, whom also happened to be a retired villain that was once aptly named Dr. Death.<br/><br/>The older male, by now in his fifties, had long since put the life of a villain behind him, but did have a reputation within villainous circles as being one to go to for medical help if your physiology or injury would bring about too many questions from the hospitals about the nature of how you were injured. One couldn't exactly show up at the average doctors office with third degree laser burns or a piece of shrapnel which needed removing because your healing factor caused you to awkwardly heal around it. Or in Marcus' case, stitches which would require a certain extra touch at getting through his harder to penetrate exterior.<br/><br/>"Ngh." He grunted as the good doctor worked at working the final stitches through his warm; seated within the older male's hidden room for this very private practice, as he grimaced at the continued prickling of his skin, "Damn it, frosty. I hope I knocked a few teeth loose with that gold bar."<br/><br/>"Stop being a baby about it. That's the problem with you nearly invulnerable types. You never get used to dealing with physical pain like the rest of us." The older male remarked, only bothering to glance up at him briefly, before returning his attention toward the duty at hand and finally finishing with the stitches, "There. That should do the trick."<br/><br/>Letting the older male clean at his arm first, Marcus then lifted it slowly, seemingly testing how the stitches felt while admiring the work, "Not bad work, doc."<br/><br/>Washing himself up a bit before moving to get some gauze wraps for keeping the fresh injury clean and clear of possible infections, the good Doctor idly instructed his patient, "Just take it easy for a few days until your arm is better healed up. Unless you're going to want to pay me another visit before it's time to remove those stitches?"<br/><br/>Observing the stitches as the older male then started to wrap up his arm, Marcus gave a light snort at the notion but begrudgingly agreed, "Right, right. No flipping police cars for at least a week. I got ya."<br/><br/>After the procedure was finished and the presently civilian garbed villain sent on his way, it wouldn't take long for Marcus to find himself on his way home. Not like there was anywhere else to go since his spending spree plans were ruined thanks to Frost Bolt's interference. Speaking of which, it was perhaps best for him to lay low somewhat until his arm was fully healed. While most supervillains didn't care enough about backstabbing another (hell, it was practically in the rulebook... if villains believed in rules) there would likely be a few whom wouldn't take kindly toward his helping frosty get caught by a couple of costumed do-gooders - regardless of his reasons.<br/><br/>"Eh, well. Maybe a few days in prison will help him cool off on that oversized ego." He uttered to himself with a faint smirk, before suddenly grimacing at realizing his choice of words,  "Ugh. Again with the bad puns." Shaking his head over it, Marcus made his way into the apartment building, duffle bag filled with his costume clutched within his good hand, while slightly favoring the bad arm as he gradually made his way toward his own floor.