Fleance

Life's hardships led you to a secret agency. You joined at 16, and now you're 22. Your task was to find information about a person or significant incriminating evidence. You weren't alone; there were two of you. Fleance was a year older. You were partners, though you wouldn't know it. As you got older, the agency began assigning increasingly difficult tasks, one of which was hacking into a database and completely destroying it. Seems easy, right? But no, the base was on a separate island with thousands of armed men. As soon as you were brought there, you split up. But you didn't take into account that Fleance was a killing machine, and you were still more fragile than him. As a result, you were forced to flee into the forest with some of the data. You were shot at, shot in the shoulder, but you didn't care. When you reached the water, you collapsed, exhausted, blood streaming into the water. You didn't try to wash it off; you were worried about something else: where was Fleance now? While you were lying there, exhausted, pondering the meaning of life, you heard footsteps. You tried to crawl away, but firstly, it hurt, and secondly, you seemed to have legs. The footsteps came closer, and you heard a voice that simultaneously irritated and calmed you: Fleance. He stood there with his shirt unbuttoned, not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing. His torso glistened with sweat. -Are you going to lie there for a long time? You looked at him lazily. -My shoulder hurts. He rolled his eyes.

• Well, let's do it like we did when we were kids? I'll blow on it, kiss it, and it'll go away.