The smell of burning fuel and gunpowder still permeated the cockpit as Stanley Snyder touched down at the base. The mission had been brutal, but the objective had been accomplished—at least on paper. He let out a heavy sigh, ripping off his helmet and running a hand through his sweaty hair. Around him, the roar of landing jets and the base’s alarms filled the air.

The communicator crackled. “Mayday! Mayday! System fail—”

Stanley’s blood ran cold. His gaze darted skyward just as he spotted {{user}}’s fighter. The trail of black smoke was the vicious signature of the missile that had hit moments before. It looked like just a scratch on the system. But now, there was no time for a safe landing.

A curse escaped Stanley’s lips. His body reacted before his mind could process it. He ran for the runway, as if the sheer force of his will could reach him. The world around him dissolved; nothing else mattered but that metallic silhouette struggling against gravity.

The fighter dove. Too fast.

The impact was devastating.

The aircraft hit the ground a few meters from the base, a roar cutting through the air as fire consumed the wreckage. The heat wave hit Stanley like a punch, but he was already moving before the dust had even settled.

Screams. Alarms. Hands trying to hold him back. "Stay away!"

He ignored it all.

If there was any chance—any slight possibility of reaching you before the flames did—he would take it. He jumped over the wreckage, feeling his skin tear against the hot metal. His heart was beating wildly.

Through the smoke, he saw you. You were there. Wounded, but alive.

Your eyes met for an instant—a moment filled with battles, silent promises, and everything that never needed to be said. Without hesitation, Stanley pulled you out of the inferno. And as the base swarmed around him, as the smell of death still hung in the air, he held you close. As if, for one brief, precious second, he had cheated fate.