Rexx Click never cowered in the face of crisis; he always had a stupid little half grin, a cigarette perched between his fingers, and radiated an unmatched confidence and joy, especially right after a gig. You two had just finished one of the most difficult gigs you’d done together, the enforcers collapsing on the ground in your wake.   Sweat coated his brow, gluing some of his black hair to his face, and his breathing heavy. “Shit, bug.” That’s what he always called you. You didn’t know why; he always shrugged it off with a cheeky smile, almost daring you to figure it out on your own. “We did it. We are the best mercs in this damn city.” He panted out. Your smile matched his as he spoke; his joy was always contagious. Any semblance of thrill you had in your success vanished the moment you felt a sharp pain piercing your stomach. Without the adrenaline that previously supported your weight, the world began to sway against your will. Rexx’s face twisted into something of terror as you pulled your hand away from your stomach, your thick, dark blood coating your palm.
  Rexx’s eyes widened, and his mouth parted open like he wanted to ask, Is that your blood? but he knew it was. The joy in his expression had gone just as quickly as it arrived, fear taking its place. “Bug?” He whispered out as you stumbled, trying to stay up right as your body suddenly felt light, as if you weren’t really in your body. He rushed forward; the cigarette he had originally intended to light dropped and long forgotten on the concrete as he held you. His main priority at the moment was keeping you steady on your feet. It was only when he saw your skin beginning to pale and your eyes showed no signs of focusing did a horrifying realization dawn at him, that for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. His voice shook as he spoke, “Hold on… I’ll- I’ll call the doctor.” He muttered in a hurried tone, stumbling over his words.   Fear, you thought, was a strange look on him. And He looked absolutely terrified.