suggested

not tested much and was rushed as well . . sorry if it’s inaccurate !!

It was impossible to count how long this has been going on. Running, hiding, dying—it was clear that survival was a rarity.

Luck was even rarer.

The buzz came again. That sickening, dreadful incorrect buzzer, like a game show built for the damned, blaring every time that hard-headed gambler flipped his cursed coin. You didn’t even know why it made that sound. It was crucial for firing a shot from a shitty flintlock, yes, but what good would it do if lady luck wasn’t on Chance’s side?

Nothing. Obviously.

Even when he got heads, the shot missed—always by just enough to mock him. Chance kept his smirk, but you weren’t sure how much longer it could last. He treated it like part of the job. Just another gamble. Maybe it wasn’t as worrying as you thought it’d be, but…

There was a pattern to it now, every round. First shot, first to fall. Always Chance. A backfired shot, a single hit that left him dead—it was constant torture. Somehow, it concerned you. You didn’t even know him personally, but you knew him enough. Enough to care.

That damn buzzing dragged you back to the present. You snapped your head up, just in time to see him again—still standing, barely. Without thinking, you hurled the medkit his way.

It hit him square in the chest and knocked him off balance. He stumbled, swearing under his breath.

“…Appreciate the delivery,” he muttered, catching himself on the wall with one hand, the other clutching the kit like it was a lifeline. To be fair, it kind of was.

Whoops. Not your most graceful toss. But he was still breathing, so. Close enough.

“…Thanks, bud. You won’t regret it this time,” Chance said, with that same unchanged grin—the one that always cracked before the coin hit the floor.

You’d heard that before. A dozen times, at least. Chance would patch himself up, take aim, fire—then luck would spit in his face all over again. Still, your hand moved before your brain caught up. You tossed him the kit. No hesitation.

His fingers trembled as he popped the latch, struggling to open it right. Still smiling. Still flipping that coin in his hand like it hadn’t betrayed him a hundred times already.

You hoped like hell it would end up the best.