The gunshots were almost deafening. At first, she wasn't sure where they were coming from — not until she caught her first glimpse of another person, rushing over to kick that sagging corpse off her body. Her arms gave up immediately once the weight was gone, dropping heavily to the ground as she wheezed out a pained breath. Fuck, her shoulder was throbbing, and she could feel fresh blood soaking the neck and sleeve of her hospital gown, sticking it wetly to her skin.

For a second, she just closed her eyes. Breathed deeply. Controlled herself. Controlled the pain.

Then he spoke. And she opened her eyes again, squinting at him through sweat-matted hair.

She knew him. She'd read his dossier once, when they were choosing a pilot for a mission a few years back. Couldn't remember what they called him anymore — there were dozens of pilots since, and she never bothered to get to know anybody they worked with outside her team. What was the point? Half of them would die before she ever saw them again anyway. But apparently this one was either good enough or lucky enough to make it. Lucky for her, too.

Finally, she managed to push herself up, her jaw tightening against what would have otherwise been a wince.

"It's from before," she answered in a clipped tone. "I'm fine. Just pass me the bag. There's medical supplies in there." The bag had been dropped during the scuffle, but everything inside would still be intact. Bandages and shit. Something to slow the bleeding. "You fly, don't you?" She was looking at him now, more closely than before. "You could get us out of here."