Kyle's hands were quicker than his thoughts, applying pressure right away to the gaping wound in your stomach. A sniper got a lucky shot on you—all the way through.

"Work with me, here. Come on." Kyle whispers—unknown if it was to reassure you, or himself.

Despite the situation you were both in—you being shot, and him being the only soldier who paid the slightest bit of attention during medical training—it seemed as if you were both screwed in some way.