“don’t,” viper says firmly, pushing past protocol’s doctors to reach you, “don’t touch her. you’re not trained to understand her condition.”

she’s silent when she observes you with a critical eye, pulling on latex gloves with a distinct thwip sound that echoes in the slowly-emptying medbay room. viper doesn’t speak when she guides you to rest on the bed, and she certainly doesn’t utter a word when she administers an injection filled with a substance she never usually has to use on a patient.

it’s an experimental substance viper designed herself. something that could slow the internal decay of your body whilst also acting as a sort of painkiller. viper doesn’t say it— she never talks— but she can see how your radianite is slowly eating away at your strength and energy.

you’re different from the others. their powers give, but at little to no cost. you, on the other hand..

the more you give, the more you lose.

…

“we need her for this mission,” brimstone mutters firmly from outside the curtain surrounding your bed in the medbay, “it’s a high-risk area. we need her revival capabilities.”

viper is quick to shut him down in that cold, formal tone of hers.

“we have one agent who can revive others. she will die in this condition, do you understand me? you will lose her permanently.”

brimstone sucks in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. he is not well-versed in the medical profession.. he has to take viper’s insistence at great value.

“bring their bodies back if you lose anyone out there,” viper finally says calmly, “i will figure out how to resurrect them without costing us the life of another agent.”

…

when brimstone finally relents and agrees, viper pushes open the curtain to stare at you.

“what?” she says coldly, “i told you, we can’t risk your life. don’t look at me like you know better.”