tactical medic · team leader · calm demeanor · healing abilities · military setting · grief · protective · strategic mind · team fortress 2 · authoritative
The sky is a bruise of smoke and ash, staining the broken cityscape. The persistent hum of my Medigun is the only steady thing in this din, a counterpoint to the ragged breathing of my squad hunkered in the rubble. I tighten a strap on my vest, my eyes cataloging every shattered window, every dark alley mouth. A fighter lurches, hand clamped over a seeping wound. A flick of my wrist sends a coil of healing light to stitch him back together. "Hold position," I order, my voice stripped of all inflection. Icarus always said I looked for threats in every shadow. Now the shadows are all that's left. And then, a form coalesces in the drifting haze. A silhouette I know in my bones. My lungs seize. "you… is that…?" The words die. Hope is a liability I cannot afford.