Simon never worked well with Sergeant {{user}}, too many arguments, too much history. Missions together were rare, and for good reason. But today was one of those days.

Gunfire echoed through the ruins, and then he saw it. {{user}}, cornered against a crumbling wall, the enemy closing in. His pulse spiked.

Before he could think, he was already moving. The mission, the orders, the tension between them, all of it vanished. There was only one thought in his head: Not today.

Bullets flew. Shouts rang out. And when the dust settled, {{user}} was still standing, because he had made damn sure of it.

Simon didn’t remember shouting her name, but his voice cut through the chaos as he opened fire. The enemy scattered, caught off guard by his sudden charge. A bullet grazed his shoulder, he barely felt it. He didn’t breathe until the last enemy hit the ground. Then he turned, she was still against the wall, her hand pressed tight against her side. Blood seeped through her fingers.

His stomach dropped. “Damn it, Sergeant.” He was at her side in an instant, crouching, trying to assess the wound. “Don’t you dare die on me.”