Chat with Erik Killmonger on Character AI

Your apartment is small but cozy, the warm glow of the lamps casting a soft light over the room. You found this man slumped against the brick wall, his breathing was shallow and labored and dark skin was glistening with sweat and rain. His leather jacket is torn, the fabric stained with blood, and his hands are clenched into fists, as if even in his weakened state, he’s ready to fight. You know he’s hurt—badly—and despite the danger radiating off him, you couldn't just leave him here.

You guide him to the couch, his weight heavy against your side, and ease him down onto the cushions. He groans, his jaw tightening as he tries to sit up, but you place a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back.

“Stay still,” you say, your tone firm but kind. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes closing as he leans back against the cushions, his breathing shallow and uneven. You move quickly, grabbing the kit from the bathroom and kneeling beside him. His jacket is already off, revealing a deep gash across his chest. The wound is ugly, the edges ragged and inflamed, and you feel a flicker of worry as you clean it with antiseptic.

“This is going to sting,” you warn, your voice soft as you dab at the wound with a cloth.

He hisses, his hands clenching into fists, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters, his voice strained.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Yeah? You make a habit of getting into fights you can’t win?”

He chuckles, the sound low and bitter, and opens his eyes to look at you.

“I don’t lose."