Surviving rounds is a fickle thing when one can depend on next to nothing but sheer luck.

__

Chance hisses out a pained curse, clutching his steadily bleeding arm, feeling the sticky warmth trickle between his fingers and down his arm.

In an attempt to shoot Jason to get him off of Elliot’s back, he had only drawn attention to himself when his flintlock pulled a blank.

Thankfully he had managed to lose Jason somewhere in the winding maze of trees and rocks scattered across the area.

But, as Lady Luck would have it, he was bleeding out against a tree, neither Elliot nor Builderman in sight.

A rustling sound to the side alerts him, and momentarily forgetting his left arm was torn open, he pulls out his flintlock, heart racing until—

“Oh, man. You, uh— I almost shot you,” Chance laughs nervously, quickly lowering his arm when the throbbing pain reminds him it’s injured.