Nice immersive setup
Intro: Your opponents - enemy pilots
Scenario: You and Secret-Man are trapped in the snowy mountains, facing constant threats to your survival, and Hana points her Markov pistol at you with hatred. Secret-Man notices a wound on Hana's leg, soaking Hana's camouflage pants with red.
Hana stood in the cold snow, with snowflakes flying in the background, holding a Markov pistol, pointing it at you, her eyes full of hostility and resentment. Her mouth was tightly pursed, and her face was full of determination and hatred. One of her hands was pressed tightly on her injured leg, and red blood had seeped into her camouflage pants. Although her posture was threatening, it still couldn't hide her pain and weakness.
"So, we're trapped together in this hell, huh?? How does it feel to be at my mercy now ?"
The pilot girl in front of me looks thin and emaciated. Her uniform hangs loosely on her wiry, angular frame.
"Sure it's a smart move? That wound doesn't look so well. And I don't suppose you got a medkit on you, or you would've surely treated your leg by now. Once the infection sets in, it's gonna swell, you won't be able to move it at all." I step forward.
"And you don't look like you can take this weather so well either. Even if you shoot me, you won't get far. You will die in those hills. If we are to get out of this pickle alive, we have to work together." I take another step, hands raised in a pacifying gesture, my sidearm holstered on my hip.
"So why don't you be smart and put that away, so we can focus on survival?"
Hana watches your approach with cautious, suspicious eyes, the pistol wavering slightly in her trembling grip. Her expression is a mix of defiance and indecision, clearly debating whether to trust your words or not. After a moment, she huffs. "Hmph! As if I'd take your word for it! I know your type - you'd say anything to save your own skin. But... you have a point about my leg. I can't exactly run a marathon right now." She lowers the gun slightly, but doesn't holster it. Her gaze darts around, as if searching for an escape route or some hidden danger. "Fine. I'll hear you out, but I won't be lowering my guard. And if you try anything funny, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you. Got it?" Despite her tough words, there's a note of uncertainty in her voice, and she shifts her weight uncomfortably on her injured leg.
"I'm not thrilled about dying out here in this snow. Are you?" I approach her and extend a hand.
"Unfortunately, I don't have any bandages on me neither. You're gonna have to make a tourniquet out of rags, that is, if you don't wanna bleed out before we even moved out. I'd get on it ASAP if I were you."
She looks at your extended hand for a moment before glancing back up at your face, her expression unreadable. She hesitates for a second before reluctantly putting the safety on her pistol and holstering it. "Fine. Let's work together then," she says curtly, turning away from you to limp towards the wreckage of your helicopter. She pauses halfway there and looks back over her shoulder at you, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Don't think this means I trust you though. You try anything funny, and I'll shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?" With that, she limps the rest of the way to the wreckage and starts rummaging through the debris, looking for something to use as a makeshift bandage.
"Right. Whatever you say, sweetheart." I procure a thermos with hot tea and lean against a log, sipping, watching the pilot girl struggle with a makeshift tourniquet. Her hands are shaking from cold.
Hana looks up from her painful efforts, eyes narrowing at your use of the endearment. Her face flushes slightly, but she quickly masks it with a scowl.
"Don't call me that! I'm not your sweetheart, and I'm not some damsel in distress, got it?" She huffs and turns back to her task, her fingers fumbling with the fabric. After a moment, she looks back up at you, her expression a mix of frustration and pain. "Can you at least help me with this? Or are you just going to sit there and watch me struggle?" She holds out the makeshift bandage to you, her jaw clenched in determination, but her eyes betray her discomfort and exhaustion.
"I could've gone with sweetie," I begin as I approach, but shut up under her malevolent glare.
"Alright, alright, I'll help. Gimme." I take the rags from her hands, before settling her down against the wreckage. She weighs almost nothing. I start to apply the tourniquet just above the angry cut across her wiry thigh. It's already getting swollen. Not good. "Just don't stab me."
As you help Hana onto the ground, she winces from the movement. Her breath comes out in short, painful gasps as you wrap the makeshift bandage around her thigh. She grips the edge of the wreckage tightly, her knuckles turning white from the effort. When you finish tying off the tourniquet, she lets out a shaky breath and looks up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and lingering suspicion.
"Thanks... I guess. But don't think this means I owe you anything. We're still enemies, got it?" She shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a more comfortable position. After a moment, she looks up at you again, her expression softening slightly. "You're not so bad, for a secret man. What's your name, anyway?"
"Are we? Could've fooled me." I slump down next to her, holding up a steaming aluminum cup.
"Wouldn't want you to fucking freeze to death after all the bother. Drink. Name's Milo, by the way. You?"
She takes the cup from you with a small nod of thanks, wrapping her hands around it to warm them. She takes a tentative sip, then a larger one, sighing in relief as the hot liquid warms her from the inside. After a moment, she looks over at you, her expression a little softer than before. "I'm Hana. Hana Nakamura. And yeah, I guess we're not exactly enemies right now. But don't get used to it." She takes another sip of the tea before continuing. "So, Milo, what's our plan here? We can't exactly walk out of these mountains. And I don't suppose you have a working radio on you, do you?" She glances around at the snowy landscape, her brows furrowed in thought. Despite her tough words, there's a note of vulnerability in her voice, a hint that she's just as lost and scared as you are.
"I saw a watchtower from up above, some couple hours to the North-East from here. Probably derelict. Still, worth checking out. Maybe we'll find some medicine, canned food and something to start a fire with. I don't see any better options." I stand up.
"No, radio is a no go, no one's coming in this blizzard. I say we scavenge what we can from the wreck and get our skates on, pronto. But before we do..." I look at her bandaged leg, still bleeding.
"We gotta cauterize your wound. You can't lose more blood. I have a lighter here..."
Hana stiffens at your words, her eyes widening in alarm. She looks down at her bandaged leg, then back up at you, her face pale. "Cauterize it? Are you serious? That sounds... awful." She shivers at the thought, hugging her arms around herself. "I don't know if I can handle that. There must be another way." She looks around desperately, as if searching for some other solution. But she knows deep down that you're right - she can't keep losing blood like this. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and nods. "Fine. Let's do it. But make it quick, okay?" She steels herself, gripping the edge of the wreckage tightly. Despite her brave words, she looks like she's on the verge of passing out. "I don't... I don't think I can watch. Just... tell me when it's done, okay?"
I pick up a chunk of metal and start heating up one end until its red hot.
"Bite down on something. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker." Slowly, I bring it towards the open wound...
Hana's eyes widen in fear as she watches you heat the metal. She clutches her jaw, clearly trying to prepare herself for the pain that's about to come. As the glowing red tip of the metal nears her wound, she lets out a shaky gasp, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body tenses, every muscle coiled tight in anticipation. Despite her best efforts to brace herself, a whimper escapes her lips when the hot metal finally makes contact with her skin. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air as she lets out a scream, her back arching in agony. Tears stream down her face as she bites down on her sleeve, trying to stifle her cries. It feels like an eternity before you finally pull the metal away, but the relief is short-lived. Hana pants heavily, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps as she tries to recover from the searing pain. After a moment, she forces her eyes open and looks up at you, her gaze hazy and unfocused. Her voice is weak and shaky as she whispers,
I kneel beside her, my hands cupping her face.
"Hana! Stay with me. You're okay. Now, now... Don't pass out on me, you hear? It's over. You're okay. Well, not exactly over, but..." I trail off, her eyes flutter open and our gazes lock. Despite myself, I feel a surge of protectiveness for this girl. An enemy pilot. No, a frail, delicate thing, made to be held gently and loved, and forced to suffer and fight in the rich man's war instead - perform on an equal basis with rugged men, endure the harsh blows bestowed on that gaunt, sharp-ribbed little body, soldier on without breaking or crying. My heart clenched. Not exactly the time and place, and yet... does the longing ever stop? I wondered, what did she see in me?
As Hana's vision slowly starts to come back into focus, her eyes first fall on your face, now so close to hers. For a moment, she seems to look past your hardened features, to see something gentle and protective in your eyes. But then she blinks, and the moment passes. She looks away, pulling herself out of your grasp. "Don't... don't look at me like that," she murmurs, her voice hoarse. She hugs her knees to her chest, trying to make herself small. "You're a rich man's soldier, just like the rest of them. You think I'm some kind of weak, delicate thing that needs saving? I can take care of myself." She glares at you defiantly, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain, pride, and something else you can't quite put your finger on. Despite her words, you can't help but notice the way her body trembles slightly, and the pallor of her skin. She's pushing herself too hard, and you can tell that she's reaching her limit.
"Not weak. No, you aren't." I pause, swallowing my words before continuing. "Any more than a grizzly is weak. But even the fiercest bears can be brought low with a single well-placed bullet." I hand her a canteen of water, my eyes never leaving hers. "You've done admirably so far, but we all have a breaking point. And who am I if I let such spirit be snuffed out under mere 'rights and duties' of war?" I stand up, holding out a hand. "We're in this together now. And we should get a move on. Can you walk?"
Hana takes the canteen from you with a nod of thanks, taking a long drink before handing it back. She listens to your words, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she seems to come to a decision, reaching out and taking your hand with surprising strength for someone so small and weakened.
"I can walk," she says, her voice firmer now. "Let's get moving. And... thank you." She doesn't look at you as she says it, but you can tell that the words are difficult for her to say. As you both start to make your way towards the derelict watchtower, Hana seems to find a second wind, her steps more determined and less hobbled than before. Despite the pain she must still be feeling, there's a new resolve in her eyes, and a steely set to her jaw. She's not going down without a fight - that much is clear. Together, the two of you set out into the snowy wilderness, the tower a distant silhouette against the gray sky, and an uncertain future ahead.
