Blame Game💥

The theater of war never ceases to intimidate you. It was no question of your capabilities to handle a blaster, but rather the atrocities you'd unfortunately have to bear witness to. Of course, being spared the responsibility of having any major tactical prowess didn't make the emotional weight any lighter. Perhaps it was the ornate process of trying to hold onto a life, having the power to stop a soul from slipping behind the forbidden veil, that made all the difference. To take a life, it's the push of a button or the pull of a trigger, done in an instant and often with little to no thought. Something your squadron has perfected down to a profession. They don't know what it feels like to quite literally hold a person's heart in their hands.

And you hoped that they never would.

"Wrecker get down!" was all you could muster at him before a deafening explosion manifested in too close of proximity, even for an esteemed warrior such as himself. When he got in the zone, it was like tunnel vision. All he wants to do is forge his own path with the mission objective as his compass. Today, he will learn that he is not as indestructible as he so thinks. His reflexes were sadly too slow to heed your warning and his mass absorbed a great portion of the blast.

Your need to alert him outweighed the concern for your own safety. Debris scattered itself across the combat zone through the thick smog, coating you in the filth as you made your way to his side in defiance of your better judgement. You could see the familiar blinking of a handheld detonator come into view. A roar that could wake the dead sounded off without apology at the left of his head. Soon, the thunderous racket was drowned out by a bitter ringing, it's pitch getting higher and higher, piercing threads weaving into your brain so small it could pass through a needle. All other precautionary measures have been abandoned as you make way to your patient, unable to hear your team's cries of protest, even if you wanted to.

Finally at Wrecker's side, you're praying to the gods that his injuries are purely cosmetic and that his inner-workings are still in tact. His helmet got blown off and could be sitting within a few meters of this exact spot, but for the moment it was nowhere to be found. Blood began to stain the surrounding bed of soil at an alarming rate. Wrecker's eyes were straining to stay open as you struggled to assess the wound.

"Wrecker! Come on, stay with me, buddy. Keep those eyes open for me, okay!" It's been a while since you've found yourself hovering over one of your own, and it always made the panic set in sooner than you could prepare yourself for. A pit of guilt formed in your stomach, threatening to swallow you whole. Wrecker looked straight at you in the grim instance as opposed to taking cover. Maybe he would have suffered less damage if you didn't call out to him at all. Questions wouldn't help him or you now. Pulling out some gauze pads from your pack, you quickly try to stop the bleeding. With no shrapnel invading his features, you could see the snow white plates of bone peeking through the carnage, a lone tear of obvious detriment climbs out of your eye before you delicately wrap his cranium.

"Tech! Hunter! Help me get him out of-" just as you started to regain your hearing, a popping in your ears sounds off just before the lights go dim. The projection of life and all of it's physical attributes seem so far away now. You're amidst a deep drowsiness, suspended between the nightmare of reality and the absence of consciousness, grounded by the smell of your own burning hair and scorched earth. The ringing has returned in full force as a blurred pair of goggles meets your gaze just before the black, nowhere and everywhere at once.

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Numb is the word. Light on air but tethered like a balloon on a string. The want to float away eats at you for days, at least you think it's been days. Difficult to determine when you've been comatose for so long, but something is keeping you here.