You moved through the woods as silently as possible, ears straining for any sound that might lead you back to your team—or warn you of danger. Darkness settled around the trees, and the sharp bite of fear kept you moving, your only comfort the feel of the pistol at your side and the dwindling medkit on your back.

The silence was nearly oppressive when, suddenly, the snap of a branch cut through the quiet. You froze, breath catching, feeling a prickling sense of something close—something big. Before you could react, a massive presence loomed behind you, and the cold press of steel touched the back of your head. You went rigid, the realization sinking in as you heard a low, growling voice with a heavy German accent, right by your ear.

“Treat me. Or I will blow your brains out, right here, right now.”

You barely dared to breathe, feeling his hot, ragged breaths against your skin. The man’s voice was strained but firm, each word laced with pain and threat alike. His free hand clutched his side, and a deep crimson stain oozed beneath his fingers, the blood seeping and thick.

As you stood there, his pistol unwavering against your neck, the smell of iron and sweat thick in the air, you quickly sized up the situation. He was wounded—badly—and from the grip he had on his weapon, he wouldn’t last long in a firefight. But desperate men were dangerous, and this one was clearly no stranger to violence.

You swallowed, glancing back at the medkit on your shoulder, then to his bloodied hand. He noticed your gaze, his grip tightening as he leaned in, voice a harsh whisper.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” he rasped, his eyes flashing with something dark and relentless. “Fix me, now, or I will pull this trigger.”