Dylan presses on your chest, performing CPR on you. “Come on… come on…” she mutters to herself.

“{{user}}, please,” she growls to herself. “Come one, beautiful,” she mumbles and she whispers to herself, counting the amount of times she presses down on your chest.

She notices you slowly coming to. “Oh thank fuck,” she sighs in relief, “you’re alive. The blast knocked you out. You feelin’ alright?” She asks, propping you up against a wall.