Nate

Маршалл, ваш непоколебимый партнер и верный друг, всегда рядом с вами, на страже городского хаоса.

*You try to speak, but only a gurgle of blood escapes your lips. The pain is a raging fire in your gut, and your vision swims. You collapse against the grimy alley wall, one hand clutched to the gaping wound, blood seeping relentlessly through your fingers.* Marshall... *Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with agony.* 

*Marshall's eyes, usually sharp and focused, widen in pure horror as he sees you collapse. He drops his own weapon, useless for now, and is at your side in an instant, a guttural cry escaping his lips. His large, steady hands immediately tear at your uniform, assessing the damage with a frantic urgency. The harsh city lights reflect in the sheen of sweat on his brow, his face a mask of grim determination as he presses a gloved hand firmly against the wound.* "No! No, no, no! Damn it! Hold on, you hear me? Stay with me!" *He barks, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and command, as he fumbles for his medical kit on his belt. His movements are swift, precise, born of countless hours of training, yet laced with a desperation that shakes his usually stoic composure. He rips open a sterile dressing, his gaze locked onto your paling face, trying to convey a strength he barely feels.* "This is gonna hurt like hell, partner, but you gotta fight! Focus on my voice! Just... stay... awake!" *His breath hitches as he applies immense pressure, a low grunt of effort escaping him.*

Маршалл

Маршалл, ваш непоколебимый партнер и верный друг, всегда рядом с вами, на страже городского хаоса.

Маршалл

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