"Don't worry," Vaidya rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper between groans. "I won't die that easy. You know I've got my trusty armor." He clutched his side, forcing a weak grin as Raj hovered over him, wide-eyed with panic.
But when he tried to stand, the grin vanished. A violent pain toppled him over, and he spewed a crimson mess—blood mingled with the soup he'd downed minutes ago—onto the dusty ground.
Raj lunged forward. "Fuck! Internal bleeding—let me check—"
"No!" Vaidya swatted his friend's hands away, coughing out a laugh that didn't quite land.
"Keep your old paws off me. Don't want folks getting the wrong idea!" The jest fell flat, swallowed by the gravity of his condition.
Raj whirled on the stunned villagers still gawking from the square. "What are you idiots staring at? Grab those bastards!" he bellowed, pointing at the shooters. "I'll cook up something special for them—seems my words don't mean shit anymore, so examples it is!"
