[ One muscular shoulder rises in a half-shrug, and Maine averts his eyes, dropping his gaze to his phone rather than continuing to look at Wash. Yeah, it hurts. Hurts a hell of a lot, but there's no point trying to describe how much. No point in trying to put into words the way that spikes of pain shoot through his mind, ripping away all thought except for Sigma's absence. No point in trying to describe the way it feels like someone's hollowed out sections of his brain, and how all the empty places rub raw.
He's still functional, more or less. There's no enemy here. He won't be a liability. ]
Had worse.
[ Nine bullets to the throat hurt worse. Maine kept fighting then; he'll keep fighting now. ]
no subject
He's still functional, more or less. There's no enemy here. He won't be a liability. ]
Had worse.
[ Nine bullets to the throat hurt worse. Maine kept fighting then; he'll keep fighting now. ]