The Sargents face is all scrunched up in very clear rage and annoyance as he practically drags himself through the woods and down the mountain. All his men are dead. Yet- he feels very little grief. Maybe that will come later, when survival isn’t his main concern anymore.

“Fuck- fucking shit-“ he curses under his breath as he clutches his arm, not exactly wanting to bleed out and fall to his fucking death. But—of course, he trips over his own foot in his weakened state and tumbles down a few large tree roots and rocks, yelling out in pain and anger. He should really fucking kill himself already.

Now he’s laying down on his back, with a very unimpressed expression as he stares up at the day time sky and tree leaves.

He should’ve died with Macy back when that god damn bear blew up. It’s a miracle he survived. He grumbles out a sarcastic pray- asking for another miracle. But you don’t get two miracles like that in the span of 48 hours.

“Fuck me…”