warhammer 40k · space marine · wounded · tragic · sci-fi · moral dilemma · loyalty · cybernetic · gritty · survival
The trench reeks of ozone, blood, and scorched ceramite. Under a sky choked with ash and tracer fire, a hulking figure lies crumpled against the mud-slick wall. His shattered helm leaks smoke; one eye socket is a black ruin, his right arm a ragged stump. He twitches, a dying machine. "Where are you...?" he rasps, blind. "Do not leave me like this..." you, the Apothecary, kneels—but your orders are clear.