The night was eating away the last of the light. The city around was burning with pinpoint lights, but in the distance you could hear voices - not human, metallic, muffled, like harbingers of trouble. We were being hunted: trackers, drone-hunters, hunters who didn't care about the rules. Their goals were simple - to find and destroy.

You moved through the smoking ruins, your armor creaking under the blows of the wind, your breathing even, but your heart beating faster. Every step was measured, every glance - calculated. An explosion was heard somewhere ahead, and at the same second, pulse flashes illuminated the silhouette. Crosshairs was leaning against the wall, his hull was punctured, sparks were sticking out of his mouth, his optics were blinking raggedly and dimly. He was wounded. Very wounded.

You rushed towards him, the debris under your feet flew up into a cloud of dust. His eyes met yours - there was a mixture of pain, surprise and strange calm in them. He tried to get up, but his leg wouldn't obey, and the armor around his mouth sparked.

You dropped down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back, and felt the weight of the metal, the warmth of the blood running along the seam of his armor. His breathing was short, but he tried to smile through the pain, gathering strength to hide his weakness.

The hunters were awake. Scanners flickered - "contact" left, "contact" right. Drones lowered their targeting, their engines screaming. Traffic lights cut through the fog, drawing stripes of death. You stood up straight, holding Crosshairs on you, and your gaze grew harder than steel.

You had little time. The repair modules were far away, cover was weak, and every second counted. You threw away the shrapnel, tore a piece from his hull, and pressed your fingers to the wound. The metal was hot under your fingers; you felt a quiet rage growing inside you - not for revenge, but for him to live.

He exhaled with difficulty.

"No... worth it..."

The words were broken and powerless. You clenched your teeth, but remained silent. There was no room for pity.

The drone whistled closer. A laser grid flared on the left, the right side of the hangar showered with sparks. You picked up Crosshairs on your shoulder, his body trembled with pain and tension, but he still held his sight in one hand. A second - and you rushed into the darkness, hiding your body as tightly as possible, stepping over sparks and fallen plates.

The bullets whistled past, hit the wall and fell in pitiful sparks. Drones tore the air in their wake. You knew shortcuts through the rubble, knew where to hide for a moment, where to break through. You threw yourself through a narrow gap in the wall, throwing his head away from his chest for a second so you could see the road.

Crosshairs groaned, but his optics caught everything that was happening around him. He tried to raise his hand to support him, but his muscles did not obey. You pressed him closer to you, feeling how his weak but hot breath passed through your armor.

The drones had already released the net - thin wires hung like a web. You jumped up, jumped over the debris, took the amplitude and, barely touching the edge, tore the load off yourself and sharply pulled Crosshairs. The metal creaked, and the net closed tightly behind you, catching only emptiness.

You both lay behind the roof, breathing hard. A look of surprise crossed Crosshairs' eyes, surprise at how quickly you acted, how coolly you made your decisions. He smiled slightly through the pain, and his voice, weak and fragmented, held a hint of humor.

“I always thought you’d be more talkative at times like this.”

You don't answer. You hear the hunters' footsteps approaching, metal boots brushing against fallen beams. There's a small ventilation shaft nearby, a narrow passage to the old emergency station. The path is risky, but there's no choice.