One Survivor

Vincent stood in the command center, still reeling from the unexpected assault on their northern perimeter. The Mantis had done its job, holding off the attackers, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. He needed answers.

Turning to one of the officers, Vincent barked the order. "Send a squad to the north. I want a full sweep. Look for survivors and bring them back for questioning. We need to know who these people are and why they're coming after us."

"Yes, sir," the officer replied, snapping to attention. He quickly relayed the command to the nearby soldiers.

Within minutes, a team of heavily armed soldiers was moving out, making their way toward the northern perimeter where the chaos had unfolded.

The soldiers fanned out as they reached the northern edge of the city. The ground was littered with bodies-many of Garrick's men lay where they had fallen, their bodies riddled with bullet holes. The forest floor was soaked with blood, the trees splintered from the relentless gunfire of the Mantis turret. The scene was grim, but the soldiers knew their orders. They stepped carefully among the dead, scanning for any signs of life.

"Over here!" one of the soldiers called out, crouching down next to a figure slumped against a tree. The man was still breathing, though barely. His clothes was torn, and blood oozed from several wounds, but he was alive.

More soldiers moved in, finding a few others who had managed to survive the onslaught, though they were in no condition to fight. Some groaned in pain, others remained unconscious, clinging to life by a thread.

"How the heck is he still alive?"

"He must've been lucky, or the bullets grazed him just enough to keep him breathing," one of the soldiers muttered as he knelt beside the wounded man. He quickly checked for a pulse, confirming the man was still alive. "Get a stretcher over here, fast."

Another soldier jogged over with a stretcher, while two others began carefully lifting the survivor. His breathing was shallow, and blood had soaked through his torn clothes, but he was still conscious, groaning in pain as they moved him.

"Check the others," the squad leader barked, waving his hand toward the remaining bodies. "We need to see if anyone else made it."

"Seems like there's only one of them still holding on," one of the soldiers called out, shaking his head as he surveyed the grim scene. "The rest are gone."

"Okay, let's get this one lucky bastard back to the command center. We don't have much time. Patch him up enough so that Shadow Actual can get some answers."

The soldiers swiftly hoisted the stretcher and began making their way back to the city, carefully navigating through the wreckage and bodies strewn across the forest floor. The survivor groaned, his eyes flickering open briefly as they carried him, but he was too weak to form any words.

The squad leader glanced down at him. "He's fading fast. He might not make it."

"We only need him to make it long enough to talk," one of the soldiers muttered darkly.

Once inside the gates, the soldiers made their way directly to the medical barracks. The doors swung open as the medics inside prepared for their arrival. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as the soldiers carefully lowered the stretcher onto a bed. The survivor winced in pain, his body jerking slightly as the medics began assessing his injuries.

"Stabilize him," the squad leader ordered. "Shadow Actual needs him alive for questioning." The medics quickly went to work, bandaging the man's wounds, administering fluids, and injecting pain relievers. His breathing became a little steadier, though his body was still pale and trembling from the blood loss.

"BP's tanking-80 over 40. We need to increase his fluid intake, now!" the lead medic barked. Another medic inserted an 18-gauge IV catheter into the survivor's arm, hooking it up to a bag of Ringer's lactate solution to replace the fluids and electrolytes he had lost.

"Get a second line in," the lead medic instructed, pointing to another arm. "His veins are collapsing. We need to keep his pressure stable."

A second IV line was swiftly inserted into his other arm, this time for a unit of O-negative blood, the universal donor type, to replace the blood he was losing. The medics continued their work, applying pressure bandages to his wounds to control the hemorrhaging.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"We need to do a chest decompression," another medic called out, having noticed the man's shallow, labored breathing and uneven chest rise. "He's likely got a pneumothorax from one of the bullets that grazed his lung."

"Right," the lead medic nodded. "Prepare the needle thoracostomy."

With practiced efficiency, one of the medics grabbed a 14-gauge needle and inserted it between the man's second and third rib, into the pleural space. The rush of air escaping from the wound confirmed their suspicions-a collapsed lung from trauma. The man's breathing became marginally easier after the procedure, but he remained unconscious.

"Heart rate's up to 110," one of the medics reported, his voice steady as he monitored the beeping from the portable EKG they had attached to the survivor. "At least he's stabilizing." "Keep an eye on that lung," the lead medic warned. "We've bought him time, but he's not out of the woods yet."

With the immediate crisis under control, another medic administered a broad-spectrum antibiotic to combat any potential infection from the open wounds, along with an analgesic to keep the survivor from slipping into shock due to pain.

"He's stable for now, but he's critical," the lead medic reported to the squad leader. "If Shadow Actual wants answers, he'll need to talk to him soon. He may not last through the night without surgical intervention."

The squad leader glanced at the wounded man, still unconscious but now breathing more steadily. He nodded curtly and turned on his heel to inform Vincent.

"We'll keep him alive as long as we can," the medic said, watching as the squad leader left. "But this guy's hanging by a thread."