Anarchy (Spec Ops Guy(s) x Reader)

Chapter 3

"What's your name sweetheart," asks Tank. He definitely seems more playful than Riot but also more unpredictable. For one, he kept calling you 'sweetheart' which left you flustered, something quite unusual for you. You didn't like that he had the ability to catch you off guard like that but for some reason you were reluctant to make him stop. 

"Nope. Nice try but if you guys don't have to say your names i'm not saying mine," You state indignantly.

"Alright, alright I guess that's only fair," he says. You know he's probably smirking underneath the mask. 

Rolling your eyes, you start to think about the situation you're in. It was past curfew and there were cops crawling everywhere. If you tried to leave now you'd probably get caught, as well as Riot and Tank, but you didn't wanna stay in this musty old building all night. 

There were also likely people hurt on the streets that needed help. The street medics were overloaded with people because, despite police being ordered to not target or harm medics, many squads were completely destroying their supplies and dragging them away from patients, leaving them to bleed out. It was a disgusting display of power abuse. 

The backpack on your shoulder held the necessities for riot medicine like bandages, water bottles for tear gas, bandanas, etc. 

"Okay guys thanks for the help but I'm gonna head out. There's probably people out there that need a medic," you say, sorting through your backpack to double check you have all the supplies you need. 

You turn to head out, gripping the doorknob, when a large hand wraps around your upper arm again. You angrily rip your arm out of the grasp and turn around to see Riot lowering his hand.

"Please stop doing that," you angrily demand, annoyed with all the manhandling that seems to be rampant tonight. 

"I feel like it's not safe for you out there right now, I mean, the cops just left a minute ago and they're probably crawling all over the place," he says. Tank nods behind him, "I understand why you want to go out there but you'll be no help to those people if you're arrested or hurt." 

Their reasoning makes sense, but what if there's somebody out there who's lost an eye to a rubber bullet shot at point-blank range? Or somebody's asthma was triggered by the tear gas and they forgot their inhaler at home? The police were being absolutely brutal, as if they wanted to prove that no matter how hard we tried, they could still get away with injustice. It was sick. 

Refueled in your anger at the system of perpetual abuse, you make up your mind that no matter what danger lay ahead, you would help those who were fighting for black justice. This is arguably one of the biggest civil rights movements in history, with countries all over the world marching to support black lives in America as well as their own black populations, you'd be damned if you simply hid away in fear. 

"I can't just sit here and do nothing, that wouldn't be right. It's my own safety so I can choose whether or not I want to risk it thank you very much," you say, turning around again to leave. Thankfully, a hand doesn't grab you to stop.

As you make your way out onto the streets, You're instantly met with the sight of a boy that looks far too young to be here propped up against a lamppost, his head tilted back and eyes closed as if he's catching his breath. His face scrunches in a pained expression and you rush over to assess what's wrong. 

"Are you hurt? Where is the pain coming from?" you ask urgently. The boy blinks open his eyes and a look of relief washes over his features. The relief doesn't last for long as a panicked look takes over. 

"You've gotta leave there are cops all over the place, it's not safe. They're gonna need medics tomorrow, It's not safe, you have to-," you cut him off trying to calm him down saying, "Hey, hey calm down okay, I don't see any cops, we're gonna be fine. It's my duty as a medic to help so that's what I'm doing, it'll all be fine. Now what's wrong, tell me where you're hurt."

The boy gives one more wary glance to your surroundings to double check for police, "It's my leg, my friend and I were talking to, well I guess yelling at, this cop because he kept laughing at us, and the second curfew hit he shot me right in the leg," He says looking down to the torn and blood-soaked jeans he's wearing. 

You take out your scissors to cut the fabric away to get a better view of the injury. There's a hole where it appears that the bullet passed through but you don't see any actual bullet. Given the large size of rubber bullets, it should be obviously wedged in there. 

"Did you take out the bullet," you ask the boy, who nods in return.

"It hurt like hell and it was kinda sticking out so my friend pulled it out," he says. You're never supposed to pull out any large object in a wound if you're not in a hospital, because in many cases it's what stops the bleeding from getting worse. If you pull out a knife after being stabbed, the blood starts pouring out because there's nothing to stop it, leading to blood loss, which can easily cause death if the wound is big enough.

Given the large pool of blood around his leg, it's safe to say that the bullet has been out for a while. 

Shit, you think. 

You grab one of the bandannas from your bag as well as a pen and a keychain ring to tighten and secure the tourniquet. Tying the fabric around his leg above the wound, you twist the pencil which tightens the bandana and when the boy yelps from pain, you know it's tight enough and slip the pencil into the keychain ring to secure it. 

"Sorry," you apologize as the boy's face screws up in discomfort at the tightness of the tourniquet, "It's supposed to be painful so that I know it's tight enough to cut off your blood flow and hopefully reduce the bleeding."

"Wait, am I gonna lose my leg?" He asks, looking increasingly panicked.

You rush to soothe him, "Don't worry, most of the time when tourniquets are used it saves the limb, it's a very common misconception that using a tourniquet will cause you to have to amputate, don't worry."

You're satisfied as his expression of panic is slightly reduced, but suddenly it lights up in fear again.

"Police!"is the last thing you hear before pain lights up your lower back in the shape of a rubber bullet. 

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mace the police and call it peppa pig🥰

have you guys seen the hot black panther girl at the protests😳it's a good day to be bi