Chapter Text
Anastasia patted Kai on the shoulder, gesturing toward the doorway behind the stairs once she got their attention. “Head into there. I’ll cover you, and the team will follow.”
Kai nodded, glancing up in the direction where enemy shots had been coming from, and leapt out of their hiding spot with the assured confidence of a soldier who had done this their whole life with the knowledge that their team was always watching their back. The next wall to hide behind was four, maybe five steps away, but two steps in, they realized the familiar sound of gunfire wasn’t coming from behind them, and before they could take another step, they found themself slamming into the ground as if their legs simply weren’t there, before the pain hit them. By the time the bright light of agony cleared from their vision, all they could see was Anastasia’s boots passing by their face, followed by the rest of their team.
“Ma’am-” Their voice came out a squeak, pinched by the pain that intensified as they tried to tilt their head to catch her eye under her helmet. They might have been reassured if she just gave them a look and a nod, but instead all they saw was her hand on the back of the soldier next to her, pulling him back from his position with a gun aimed at the enemies. They were hit with the familiar numbness of another bullet ripping into their shoulder, swearing under their breath and waiting for their brain to catch up with the pain with their eyes pressed closed.
Fighting down a groan, they watched as their team left, proceeding with the plan as if they were never a part of it. “Must suck to be left to die. Serves you right for working with those bastards.” They heard a voice from behind them. “Heard you’ve always said you wanted to die slowly, hm? You should thank me, I could’ve put a bullet in your brain just now.” They couldn’t place if the voice was one they’ve heard before, but it didn’t take any thought to realize it was the rebel that had shot them twice.
The sound of footsteps and gunshots faded into the distance, followed by the familiar rumble of their getaway car starting. They could barely move their arm, pinned underneath their body with each movement bringing a fresh wave of pain, but they shifted slowly, bringing their hand to their hip and letting a sharp whimper escape. They could see why no one bothered to finish them off. At this rate, the chance of survival was basically nonexistent if they didn't get any help, and who would help them? If they wanted to, they could’ve justified to themself that they were deep in rebel-controlled territory, and their team couldn’t risk them slowing everyone down, but that also meant anyone they encounter would be more likely to kill them than do anything to stop the bleeding.
They rolled to their front and dragged their palm down their face, hoping the thick smears of blood would obscure their features enough that they wouldn’t be immediately recognized. Dealing with their uniform was going to be a bit of a challenge, but they dragged themself toward the stairs, letting their groans and yells echo through the empty house, tears of pain flowing down their cheeks. They collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, staring the the worn wood and wasting time as they felt more blood drain from their body. Forcing themself to move again after a sob shook their chest, they reached up to the dead body of a rebel lying limp halfway up the flight. The sudden pressure on their hip almost pulled a scream from them, their voice breaking and cutting off.
They stripped as quickly as they could. Their body armour caught under the shoulder with a bullet lodged in it and they yelled out in frustration, pulling at the straps erratically even if that hurt them more. They knew they had to calm down, but that knowledge didn’t help when they were filled with fear and pain and their body didn’t let them slow down. In the end, most of their clothes were ripped rather than taken off, thrown into a pile beside them, and they set to peeling the clothes off the dead rebel with their shaking hands. It wasn’t something that usually bothered them, and now was a terrible time for it, but the cold wetness of blood seeped into the fabric against their hands made them think of themself lying there, dead. Really, they wouldn’t have minded dying like this, but there was a voice in their head saying that if anyone wanted them dead, they had better finish the job themself.
They crawled the whole way out of the house, and once outside, it was easier to move leaning against the wall, even if that made it feel like someone was drilling into their shoulder. They couldn’t have gone far, so they settled for knocking on the nearest door, making sure to smudge some more blood over their face, hoping whoever answered would be willing to help what looked like a survivor after the military blew through.