Ignoring an Injury, wound reveal
The Soldier retrieves the tossed aside gun, aims and fires. The final agent drops, bullet between his eyes.
He breathes hard, takes a moment to regain his composure. Someone had gotten him with one of his own knives in the side. That more than anything makes him mad. He breathes out again, tossing the thought aside. It doesn’t matter.
Standing and taking a step isn’t too difficult, so the injury must be okay. The Handlers are monitoring, so he doesn’t take long assessing. He has a mission to complete. With a grimace, he looks down at his clothes. They’re pretty wet. Getting out of the uniform is going to be unpleasant. Especially when the blood dries.
Shaking his head, he strides forward. He was sent to retrieve the information from the enemies safe house. The Soldier doesn’t fail his missions, even when they go wrong. Anything else is just a distraction. He doesn’t get distracted. (There’s a painful buzz in the back of his head reminding him. He listens, not wanting to find out what that might mean.)
Whoever had sent him hadn’t done their research well enough. There was only supposed to be two people in the building. All expendable. There had been twelve, all meeting in this room, looking at the very intel that The Soldier had been sent to retrieve. He had been as surprised to see them there as they had been to see him.
He’s glad that it was part of his standard uniform to have a couple knives and a gun on him. Not that it would have been impossible to incapacitate all of them. Just, more difficult. Take longer.
He stumbles as he approaches the table the group had been standing over. His side twinges painfully. He ignores it.
There’s papers spread out all over the table. A laptop with a drive in it. Carefully, he gathers it all together. He’s getting light headed, starting to feel dizzy.
He should have been out by now, that’s all. The Soldier doesn’t want to know what the punishment is going to be for being late. Hopefully, after his report, they won’t be too angry with him. He was sent in with bad intel. It isn’t entirely his fault.
Probably.
Heart beating faster, he fumbles with the closed laptop, almost dropping it. He doesn’t, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.
A quick look around and he finds a laptop bag. He places it inside and grabs the papers, frowning at the splatters of blood on some of them. Too late now.
He’s shaking when he returns to base. Probably left over adrenaline. His Handlers don’t say anything about him being late. Good.
He gives his report, trying to give the report objectively. Not wanting to be in trouble, not wanting to make it sound like any specific person’s fault. That just leads to trouble. For him, usually.
The Soldier is swaying on his feet as he finishes, though he tries to stand at attention. His heart is still beating quickly, and he feels tacky where his bloody clothes stick to him. His breathing is uneven, and his eyes start to droop.
When the handlers dismiss him, he’s confused. Don’t they want his report? But they turn to the bag on the table, pulling out the contents, and someone leads him away. When he stumbles, feet not moving the way he thinks they should be, one of his guards prods him in the side. He gasps audibly, and stumbles again. Catching himself, they continue down the hall.
He’s walked into the medical room, and told to remove his uniform. With unsteady hands, he does so.
The room sways and the lights seem to turn on and off, although no one else in the room seems to notice anything.
It takes longer than it should, definitely hurts more than it should as he moves his arms around. But finally, he’s free of the top half of his uniform. It’s really wet.
Vaguely, he realizes that someone is speaking, a couple people shouting. The floor lurches, and he’s falling to his knees. Looking down at himself, his abdomen is painted red. More red spilling out of the hole in his side.
Oh, he thinks faintly, that’s not good.
And everything goes black.