“You’ve got two minutes.”

Her voice crackled through the comms, sharp and steady like always.

You pressed your back to the broken pillar, chest heaving, fingers tight around the last mag in your vest.

“Copy,” you replied, but your throat was dry.

The extraction point was a burning warehouse, its walls half-collapsed and crawling with infected. Your route out? Straight through hell.

A familiar pop sounded in the distance — Jill’s rifle. Cover fire. Controlled. Clean. Meant for you.

You sprinted.

Bullets cracked around you — some hers, some not. You didn’t care. You trusted her aim more than gravity.

By the time you dove into the warehouse, Jill was already there, crouched near the exit, eyes scanning for your shadow. She saw you before you saw her.

“Thought I told you two minutes,” she said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into cover.