Work Text:
Duncan's breathing was labored. They must've drugged him. He wasn't right. He wipes sweat from his brow- god, why was he sweating? He was shaking, too. He swallowed and looked around the room. The door. He had to get out.
Why did his gun suddenly feel so heavy in his arms? Fuck . He collapsed against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging his ponytail tighter. He could do this; he just had to get out- had to get out of the room? The base? Fuck. His comms were out, weren't they. He had to-
"Help! H-help!" Lewis. Fuck- that was Lewis! He was calling from outside of the room- Duncan needed to pull his shit together to help Lewis.
Duncan dragged himself forward, step by step, every step was agony as his mind and body wanted to meet the floor. He felt like he was made of stone. But he pushed on as Lewis's cries for help became more desperate.
Duncan tried the handle- no dice. He stepped back and kicked the door, it only took three kicks to break in the door.
When it caved, Duncan all but sprinted in- to another empty room?
More cries came from outside, more voices calling for help- the voices were his friends.
Duncan was desperate to find the source of the cries for help.
He couldn't carry his gun any longer, and dropped it before stumbling into the hallway. He had a terrible sinking feeling in his chest.
Then he saw them.
His friends lay there in a bloody pile. He felt sick, he clamped his hand over his mouth and turned away, but his hand was sticky. He slowly pulled his hand away, hesitantly looking down at his hands. Red. There was so much blood. It trailed from the bodies to his hands.
---
They found Duncan in a trembling heep, sweating and crying. He wouldn't speak, could barely open his eyes. He wouldn't stop crying. When he saw Lewis he hugged him and kept apologizing.