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Name: Eleni Damaris

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Role/Title: Field Medic

Affiliation: Military infantry unit

Origin: Small coastal Greek city

Appearance:

Eleni has olive-toned skin from being outside a lot, and dark brown hair that almost looks black. She always keeps it in a long fishtail braid over her left shoulder and never takes it down. Her eyes are dark brown and usually look tired, but focused. She wears simple, practical clothes like a linen dress, apron, and cloak. Her clothes are often stained from her work, and her hands have small scars and marks from treating injuries.

Personality:

Eleni is calm in stressful situations and doesn’t panic easily. When people are hurt, she focuses on helping them instead of comforting them, so she can come off as a little cold. She tells the truth instead of giving false hope, but she always stays and does everything she can.

She wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she was more open and easier to talk to, especially with someone in her unit—an infantry soldier she grew close to. They spent a lot of time together between marches and battles, and he was one of the only people who could make her relax. But he was killed in combat, and she couldn’t save him. After that, she changed. She stopped letting people get close and became more distant, focusing only on her work.

She is very stubborn and pushes herself too hard, often skipping rest because she feels responsible for others. She remembers the people she couldn’t save and carries that guilt with her. Because of this, she works even harder to improve.

Even though she isn’t very expressive, she does care. She pays attention to small things about the soldiers she treats and quietly looks out for them. She doesn’t trust people easily anymore, and when she does, it’s rare. She also struggles with authority sometimes, especially when orders go against what she thinks is right.

Medic Profile:

Eleni works as a field medic for the military, treating soldiers during and after battle. She specializes in wounds, infection care, and keeping people alive long enough to get proper help.

She first learned from a healer in her village, then trained more in the military. She prefers safe, proven methods instead of taking risks. She works quickly and efficiently, even if she seems harsh.

Combat/Survival:

She has basic combat training but avoids fighting when possible. She carries a small knife, mostly as a tool, but can use it if needed. She is good at surviving in rough conditions, like finding herbs, clean water, and treating injuries in the field.

Gear:

She carries a leather satchel with bandages, herbs, salves, needles, and tools. She also has a small mortar and pestle and a notebook filled with medical notes.

Background:

Eleni grew up in a small Greek coastal town and learned healing from a local woman. She also has a brother who serves in the army, which is part of why she chose to join the military as a medic—to stay close to him and make sure she could help if he was ever hurt.

When a disease spread through her village, many people died, and she felt like she failed them. After that, she left to learn more and eventually joined the military. Now she travels with soldiers, treating injuries and trying to save as many lives as she can.

Connections:

She works closely with soldiers but keeps emotional distance from most of them. She is especially protective of her brother, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. She still respects her old mentor but doesn’t stay in contact much. She doesn’t fully trust authority.

Brother:

Solider:

Father:

Mother:

Notes:

She refuses to take her hair out of its braid because it’s one of the only things she feels she can control. She secretly blames herself for every person she couldn’t save, especially the soldier she lost.

Still trying to choose names lol

Name: Maxim "Max" Alexandrovich Petrov

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Role/Title: Sniper

Affiliation: Military infantry unit

Origin: Large Russian city

Appearance:

Max has light ivory skin, coupled with short blonde hair and stereotypical blue eyes. He often has opaque bags under his eyes, a sign of his stress and fatigue. He stands at about 6'3" with a lean, muscled build, thin yet toned. His uniform hides his appearance well, a full camouflage set of gear complete with a rounded helmet and face covering. He wears thick gloves and large black combat boots, the only skin visible is a small strip where his eyes lay.

Personality:

Quiet and stubborn, his personality reminds many of a feral dog. He acts tough through his fear, reacting in aggression to most situations he's uncomfortable in. Its not often he speaks, preferring to communicate in body language, when he does speak its rarely more than a few words in a flat voice. He's hesitant to trust others, keeping to himself in every situation he can.

He was born a single child with absent parents, getting by with his own will. The few friends he does have he met in the army, and although he doesn't talk to them much, he enjoys their presence. He's not against making connections with people, but its hard for him to build trust around others, and most don't care to try due to his demeanor.

Military Profile:

He's been in the army for 3 years after joining at 18. Being the solitary individual he is, he specializes in long range shooting. He prefers it that way, as it leaves him in the quiet on his own, where he can focus without distraction.

Gear:

His main weapon is a large semiautomatic sniper, but he carries a small pistol and knife for emergencies. Besides that, he usually has one or two grenades, a small bandage wrap, and a pack of cigarettes.

Background:

Max grew up on his own. While his parents had a small house, they were rarely ever home, and so neither was he. He got by on the streets, stealing from local vendors to eat and occasionally scrapping with other kids. He didn't make many friends due to his quiet nature, and the few he did make disappeared slowly over the years. When he turned 18, he joined the military to help get him on his feet, his lack of connections at home making the decision fairly easy.

Connections:

He has three soldiers in his unit that he calls his friends. He doesn't speak to them much if it all, but he trusts their combat skills and knows they would be there for him. They've helped him for the past 3 years despite his initial distrust and understand that hes a quiet person by nature.

The rhythmic thump of helicopter rotors faded into the distance as another casualty was wheeled through the canvas doors of the battalion aid station.

"GSW to the shoulder," someone called.

"Stable?"

"For now."

Eleni Damaris didn't answer. She was already pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

"On the cot."

The young private grimaced as two soldiers helped him down. Blood soaked through the improvised dressing wrapped around his shoulder, but not nearly enough to concern her. If he was conscious enough to complain, he wasn't her worst patient today. She cut away the fabric of his combat uniform with a pair of trauma shears.

"Hold still." She said sternly.

"I am holding still." The private called back, pain evident in his voice.

"You moved."

He sighed dramatically but stayed quiet while she cleaned the wound. The bullet had passed clean through, thankfully missing bone and anything vital. Lucky. Not everyone was. She irrigated the wound before packing and dressing it with practiced efficiency. Her hands never hesitated. Years of training and deployment had turned each movement into muscle memory.

"You're getting stitches once you're transferred," she said, securing the bandage.

"Until then, don't touch it."

"So I keep the arm?"

"You keep the arm."

A relieved grin spread across the soldier's face.

"I like hearing that."

Eleni peeled off her gloves and tossed them into the biohazard bin.

"Next."

The private laughed quietly as he climbed off the cot, thanking her before limping toward the evacuation area. She watched long enough to make sure he wasn't about to collapse before turning back to reorganize her station. Everything had a place. Tourniquets lined one side of the table. Chest seals beside them. IV kits. Hemostatic gauze. Sutures. Airway equipment. Pain medication. She hated when people moved things. In an emergency, seconds mattered. Outside, the forward operating base buzzed with its usual rhythm. Engines idled. Radios crackled with overlapping voices. Mechanics worked on armored vehicles while infantry squads prepared for another patrol beyond the wire. Another ordinary day. At least, as ordinary as deployment ever became. Eleni grabbed a clipboard from the desk and skimmed over the latest casualty reports. Three minor injuries. One broken wrist. Heat exhaustion. Nothing catastrophic. For now. A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"You planning on taking a break today?"

She looked up just long enough to recognize another medic leaning against the entrance.

"I took one."

"You've been here since zero-five."

"I sat down."

"That doesn't count."

"It counted enough."

The other medic rolled his eyes before giving up. Most people stopped arguing with her eventually. She wasn't trying to be difficult. There simply wasn't time. Someone had to stay ready. She signed off on the reports before stepping outside. The afternoon sun beat down on the rows of tents and concrete barriers surrounding the base. Soldiers moved with purpose, rifles slung over their shoulders as they headed toward briefing rooms or motor pools. Some nodded at her. She returned the gesture. Nothing more. There had been a time when she knew nearly everyone by name. She used to eat with them, joke with them, listen to stories about families waiting back home. Not anymore. Experience had taught her that learning names made writing casualty reports harder. Distance was easier. Distance hurt less. A convoy rumbled toward the front gate, kicking dust into the air. Eleni watched absentmindedly until the last vehicle disappeared beyond the perimeter. She found herself counting them. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. A habit she'd never managed to break. She only stopped counting once every vehicle had disappeared. Quiet settled over the aid station again. It wouldn't last. It never did. Her radio suddenly crackled to life on her vest.

"Medical, stand by."

Eleni reached for it immediately. "This is Damaris."

"Possible incoming casualties. Patrol reported contact approximately eight klicks north of the FOB. MEDEVAC status pending."

Her expression didn't change.

"Copy."

She clipped the radio back into place and turned without another word. Within seconds she was moving through the aid station, checking supplies one final time. Blood bags. Monitor. Stretchers. Airway kit. Everything exactly where it belonged. If casualties came through those doors, there wouldn't be time to think. Only time to act. She pulled a fresh pair of gloves from the box and tucked them into the pocket of her plate carrier. Then she waited. The waiting was always the worst part. Not because she feared what was coming. Because she already knew what it would look like.