save yourself. [kay/dars]

I don't like it when I am necessary. Believe me. But the terrible, awful thing about me is that my pride demands the best of me. I do everything I do with tact, precision, and success. I do not fail. My teams do not fail. That is why in times like these, when force becomes inevitable, I am called. My team.

To be clear, the shit had already hit the fan when I got there. Parking lots littered with tents, streets rampant with the sickly and the terrified. People were boarding up their doors and windows, children's feverish sobs heard through the cheaply-constructed walls. They've sectioned off a portion of Six's residential quarters, and now- stupidly- several of the residents gather at the guarded gates in protest, spreading the virus in the process and making our real job here that much more difficult.

So, priority one was to dispel the gathering crowds- a few bullet sprays into the sky and my no nonsense voice was enough to finally help them get the picture that they aren't the ones in control here. Further into the rose garden I go.

The second priority is getting to as many of the sick as quickly as possible so that they could all weed out the rebels from the regular civilians who have been- and will only continue to be stuck in the crossfire. Again, I do not like it when I am necessary. Though my team has, (on my order,) I've not yet drawn my weapon as I enter yet another home-turned-hospital. Every house I've seen here has had low ceilings and smelled like wood smoke, though the carpet in this one is a nice relief on my feet from the cobblestoned everything outside.

Five cots have been placed strategically throughout the house's first and only floor. In the far left, a woman with streaks of gray in her hair is strapped to a table and flailing in attempt to escape her bonds. Two boys, both lanky and tall, both with long, willowy limbs, both with heads of dark curls take up two of the other beds. I'd guess from the looks of them that they've caught theirs relatively quickly in its development- early stage two at worst. They likely won't even get to the delirium if they start receiving treatment soon, lucky things. I cannot see the fifth patient from the entrance, but the fourth looks to be in his early to mid twenties, too handsome to be attractive, and by the looks of it, there are three nurses who seem to be trying- and failing- to keep him seated in his bed.

"Please, Sir, just-"

"What seems to be the problem, here?" I ask, my team fanning out to question other patients. One of the nurses scoffs, her hands rising up to rest on her hips as she squints at the man with indignance.

"We are trying to finish his intake, but-"

I hold up a single finger to quiet her, my eyes never looking away from the patient.

"Name."

A beat.

My eyes narrow with impatience.

"Speak."