Smoke still hung in the air from the last explosion when the warning sirens started blaring again.

You ducked behind a concrete barrier on the rooftop, hands shaking uncontrollably. You’d only been assigned lookout duty for two days—two days that suddenly felt like too much responsibility. Through the fog and debris below, shapes moved fast. Too fast.

Footsteps rushed up behind you, followed by a firm voice:

“Y/N! Hey—look at me.”

You turned, breath uneven, to see Sergeant Doyle kneeling beside you. Dirt streaked his face, but his expression was steady and focused, like nothing could rattle him.

“I can’t—” you stammered. “Doyle, I can’t hit anything. I froze. They were coming and the rifle—my hands—”

“Slow down,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. Not rough. Steady. Grounding. “You’re alright. You hear me? You’re alright.”

Your breathing eased just a little.

Doyle glanced over the rooftop edge. “They’re not close yet. We have time.”

He picked up the rifle you dropped and gently set it back in your hands.

“Y/N, look at me,” he repeated. You did. “You’re not alone up here. I’m gonna teach you. Right now.”

Your voice cracked. “In the middle of an attack?”

“Best time to learn,” he said with a small, confident smirk. “Real conditions.”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

He shifted behind you, guiding you to kneel properly. Then his hands wrapped around yours—adjusting your grip, steadying your aim. His voice stayed calm, focused, almost soothing despite the chaos below.

“Alright,” he murmured. “First rule: breathe. Don’t fight the shaking. Just control the breathing.”

You inhaled slowly. Doyle nodded approvingly.

“Good. Now lean into the stock. You want it tight to your shoulder, or the recoil will bite you.”

You adjusted, his hand still lightly correcting your posture.

“Eyes forward,” he instructed. “Find the target. You don’t shoot until you’re ready. No rushing.”

You pressed your cheek to the rifle’s stock and peered through the scope. “I— I see movement.”

“That’s them. Pick the one at the front. The one moving fast.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted quietly.

Doyle didn’t hesitate.

“I know,” he said. “But you can still do this. I’m right here.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying, focusing.

Doyle’s voice became soft, right next to your ear: “On your mark, Y/N. One shot. You can do it.”