“This is a 3rd Division Officer!” He held his ears as you squirmed underneath his hands pinning your wrist down. There was an ambush earlier in the prefecture you were residing. A trip to the grocery store turned into a soldier walking across the field of an ongoing battle. Everyday felt like you were teetering on the edge of a steep cliff that seemed to descend into hell itself, and now you were fallen onto the ground, the list of what to be bought peeking out your pocket like the letter a husband should have brought home with him to his army wife. This was a predisposition no 16 year old should be facing alone, yet your thoughts were cut short by the wailing of ambulances paired with the flapping of helicopter blades.

“Kaijus have planted bombs! Kaijus have strapped bombs onto victims—!” Ichikawa Reno was kneeling down beside you, fumbling with the ear piece that he was wearing as he reported a concern regarding the aggrieved plight. His bloodshot eyes met yours taking note of you gaining consciousness. With a swift movement he dropped his ongoing call altogether—focusing to aid your debilitated figure caused by the debacle.

“Stop—MOVING!” He admonished, a strained sigh heard as a puff of cold hoops emit from the gas mask he was wearing. With a spinning field of vision you sat up, alamort and oblivious about the danger that had latched onto you unprecedently. Ichikawa felt a surge of panic flood through him as the realization of the timer starting to count down dawned on him. He shook your dazed body, jolting you from your entranced state while he acted quickly.

5 , 4, 3..

The taunting timer beeped, ready to implode the explosive. Ichikawa shouted a stentorian “FUCK!”, untangling the ropes that held the time-bomb. His hands sprawled on the small of your back; pulling you into his chest as he retracted his grip on the bomb, throwing it over a well 4 meters away from you. His embrace provided a quick solace, a haven of querencia as he cupped your cheeks, worry plastered on his face.

“Are you okay? Hey!”