Sam Fisher- Self-Adhering Wound Dressing

He couldn’t see the man in black drop to the deck, one hand clutch­ing at the wound in his side, the oth­er grip­ping a pis­tol. The gun chugged twice, and sent rounds through Georgy’s shin and an­kle.
...

Fish­er ex­e­cut­ed the se­cond merc with a fi­nal round through the fore­head, and then ex­haled hard, re­leas­ing the pained breath he had been hold­ing in.

He dropped into a crouch by the dead man and gin­ger­ly probed the hit on the side of his tor­so, hiss­ing as his fin­gers found the open wound. A cen­ti­me­ter to the right and the bul­let would have torn through his kid­ney, tear­ing an ugly exit on the way out of his back. The round had creased him, ex­pend­ing its ki­net­ic force cut­ting through the bal­lis­tic ma­te­ri­al of his tac­ti­cal suit and goug­ing a bloody fur­row across his bel­ly.

Crouch­ing for­ward, Fish­er pulled a self-ad­her­ing dress­ing from a gear pouch on his web­bing and folded it into place over the in­ju­ry. The matte-col­or­ed band­age was more like duct tape, but it would keep him to­geth­er. He chewed on the burn of the pain, tak­ing a shaky breath, as a new sound reached him.

- Firewall, Chapter 23