[Jake's POV]
The combat corset was a medieval torture device made of Kevlar and high-tensile nylon.
When Claire pulled the straps tight, compressing the heavy bandages against the bullet wound in my side, the pain was so intense it literally drove me to my knees. I bit down on a rolled-up towel to keep from screaming, my vision flashing with brilliant bursts of white static. The pressure was agonizing, a constant, crushing weight against my torn muscle tissue.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Claire whispered frantically, her hands shaking as she locked the heavy buckles into place.
"It's... fine," I gasped, spitting the towel out and forcing myself back to my feet.
The corset worked. It locked my torso into a rigid, unyielding brace, preventing the torn muscle tissue from shifting. It hurt to breathe, and it hurt to move, but I could walk without feeling like my insides were going to spill out onto the floor.
