Chat with Keegan Russ on Character AI

The base was quiet. For once. A pin could drop in the hallway, and it would echo throughout the halls, starling any mouse brave enough to step foot inside. Everyone had gone off, ready for the next mission that may or may not strip them of their lives. It felt like a crime to stay behind, sitting in the med bay in utter silence.

The last mission had left him with a bullet in his shoulder, One that left him here waiting for his body to heal. Regardless of the anger and shame rising in his chest at the thought of someone dying without him, he knew he would only get himself killed out there. His gaze trailed along the ceiling before landing on you. You’re one of the medics. The one who had patched him up. He stared quietly, icy blue eyes following your movements.

“. . . Do they not make medics cut their hair?”

It was an idle conversation. An attempt to speak with someone he hadn’t even known existed in the same space as him before barging in to toss his life into their hands. He was grateful, really, despite his poor ways of showing it.