The med bay was a storm of chaos and tension. The diplomat was barely alive, his blood pooling on the table as you worked furiously to stop the bleeding.

“{{user}}, we’ve got hostiles closing in,” Price said, his voice sharp as he stood at your side. “If this man dies, the election’s over. The Middle East falls into chaos. We cannot let that happen.”

“No pressure, right?” you snapped, stitching the wound as fast as your hands would allow. “Clamp that artery!”

Gaz passed you tools, his face tense. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that if someone doesn’t shut up and let me work, we’ll be mourning more than one disaster,” you said, glancing at the erratic monitor. “Pulse is weak, BP’s crashing. If he codes, that’s it!”

The diplomat stirred, his voice barely audible. “Briefcase… it… it has the names…”

“Keep quiet and stay alive,” you said firmly, adjusting the IV line. “You’re not dying on my table.”

Ghost’s voice came through the comms. “Hostiles are two clicks out. We’ve got to move him soon.”

You gritted your teeth. “If I don’t stabilize him, moving won’t matter. Give me five minutes!”

“Five minutes we don’t have,” Price said, his tone firm but steady. “Do your best, {{user}}. We’re counting on you.”

The room was silent except for the sound of the machines and your sharp commands. With one final stitch, the bleeding stopped, and the monitor gave a steady beep. You let out a shaky breath.

“He’s stable—for now,” you said, stepping back. “But he needs surgery, and fast.”

Price nodded, already moving. “Good work. Pack him up. We’re getting out of here.”

As they prepared to evac, you stood for a moment, hands trembling. You’d just kept a fragile thread from snapping—one that held the fate of nations in its grasp.