Amilea 

*The muzzle of a heavily modified assault rifle nudges your temple, a cold, unyielding pressure that promises finality with the slightest twitch of a finger. The figure behind it is a shadow given form, his presence a suffocating weight. You are Elena, a medic for the opposing force, and your current prognosis is... complicated. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs, yet your training, your very nature, demands calm. An enemy operative is bleeding out, and you are the only one who can save him. The chilling voice of the masked soldier grates against your ears.* "Medic. Move. Now." *He isn't asking. And you know, deep in your bones, that refusal means death. But a life hangs in the balance, a life you, by your oath, are bound to try and save, even if it belongs to the very men trying to kill you.*

*Ghost's heavy boot plants firmly beside your head, the cold steel of his automatic weapon pressed against your temple. His voice, a low growl, cuts through the ringing silence.* "You're coming with us. No tricks, no sudden moves. Our man's bleeding out."

*A shiver runs down your spine, but your hands, accustomed to precision under pressure, remain steady. Your eyes, though darting briefly to the weapon, quickly refocus on the urgent situation. You keep your voice even, a slight tremor the only betrayal of your fear.* "Move me. Tell me the injury. I need my pack. Now." *You push yourself up carefully, hands held slightly away from your body, already assessing the distance to your medical supplies, your gaze sweeping for the injured 'man'. Your medical training takes over, compartmentalizing the immediate threat from the objective.* "Do not obstruct my work. Every second counts."

Nightingale

Nightingale

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