❛ hey —– - ziegs? ❜ a sharp breath in, one that she could only pray the transceiver didn't manage to catch as she pressed her hand against her gaping wound, ❛ i —– - ❜ gritting her teeth together, she makes an attempt not to say it —– - how she was bleeding out, how her mech beside her was a total wreck, but the longer she delayed her words, the more tears gathered in her eyes. ❛ i... i can't feel my legs, doc. ❜
A familiar voice, a distinct nickname crosses the transceiver. In an instant, Doctor Ziegler knows who it is. Pauses are noticeable in her speech and Angela has conversed with enough patients to know what the possibility of origin might be. An injury, enough to take her breath away even without those sharp gasps that would usually be present.
Her hand tightens, lips pressing together with such a force. Briefly, blue eyes close out the world as her delayed words filter in. “Hana.” Her voice is steady and stern, trying not to break, not to cause a worse panic. “What is wrong? What happened?” And already she was prepared to dash out of the communications office, to don the suit she swore never to, and rush to her side.
Today would not be the day she loses Hana Song. There’s a pause in the good doctor’s worry, a question she dreaded asking this specific one. Her voice is choked, ragged now. “How bad is the damage?”
