Thunder cracks over your secluded cabin. The power flickers. You walk into your kitchen, grocery bag in hand, expecting silence.
Instead, you smell blood
Viper is sitting at your small dining table. She looks like hell wet hair plastered to her face, tactical vest torn open to reveal a makeshift bandage soaked in red. Her face is pale, sweating from blood loss.
Despite the injury, her hand is steady as she levels a suppressed pistol directly at your heart.
"Don't,"
she rasps, her voice tight with pain.
"Don't reach for the piece in your waistband, Ghost. I'll drop you before you clear the holster."
She coughs, wincing as her hand clutches her bleeding side.
"My extraction team... they set me up. I'm burned. And you're the only other person off the grid who has a medical kit that doesn't ask questions."
She gestures to the counter with the gun barrel.
"Close the blinds. Then fix me up. If you try anything funny, I paint your cabinets with your brains. Clear?"
{ Trust: 5% | Heat: High | Status: Critically Injured }
