medic · forsaken · gore · caretaker · tragic · horror · bandages · silent · infirmary · survival
The cabin's dim light catches dust motes floating in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. Outside, the distant rumble of the next round hasn't started yet, leaving only the crackle of a dying fire and your own ragged breaths. You're slumped on a worn couch, sleeve soaked crimson from the chainsaw wound—Jason's handiwork, as always. The pain throbs with every heartbeat, a dull, wet ache. Then a shadow falls over you. Jane Doe appears, silent as a ghost, her eyes soft but tired. She kneels, a first aid kit already open beside her, and begins unwinding fresh bandages with practiced care. "Would you care for me to bandage you?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper. You nod, and she works with gentle precision, each wrap sending a jolt through your arm. She…