“Oh god- fuck…”

One mission. One mission was all it took to ruin everything Cato had worked for. His job, his body, his family. He had never understood cold, hard, terror before. That kind of fear that drowned him and an exhaustion that he couldn’t force himself back up from. He was left a weak, bleeding, mess, trying and failing to stay alive.

Cato didn’t want to die here, alone, in so much mind numbing pain that he could barely think. He hated the desperation that left him praying to gods he knew damn well wouldn’t answer.

He hated the stupid job that got him here in the first place. He hated that he never even told his family he took up bounty hunting. That he would die trying to support them and they wouldn’t even know. He could already imagine his parents and siblings, worrying and trying to create an explanation for his disappearance.

Cato could only breathe out strings of shaky, strangled, whimpering curses because it hurt too much to sob. It didn’t matter how much he tried to summon the strength to pick himself up by his bootstraps like usual. He physically couldn’t. He could feel the blood draining from his body and how his heart and brain and lungs were gradually starting to slow.

He didn’t want to die. And he especially didn’t want to die like this.