The warehouse was a maze of shadows, the only sound the faint ticking of the bomb’s countdown. Detective {{user}} felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. Every case was a battle, but this one was different. This time, the stakes were higher. The Crimson Shadow wasn’t just any criminal; they’d made the game personal. And now, as {{user}} moved cautiously through the darkened maze, he knew he was close to finishing it.

But he wasn't alone.

“Luke, where the hell are you?” {{user}} growled into his earpiece, trying to keep his voice steady despite the tension curling in his stomach.

“Don’t joke, Luke. This is real. Focus!” {{user}} snapped, hurrying toward the source of the beeping sound that was growing louder.

He found him—Luke, crouched near the bomb in the far corner of the mezzanine, his back to him. His dark silhouette was eerily still, his concentration palpable.

“Luke! Move!” {{user}} shouted, darting toward him, but there was no response.

Then, a chilling realization set in. A faint red dot appeared, shining directly over Luke’s chest, and it wasn’t from a laser pointer. A sniper’s scope.

"Luke! Get down!"

But it was too late. The shot rang out.

Time slowed as {{user}} rushed forward, adrenaline flooding his system. Without thinking, he tackled Luke to the ground, taking the bullet in his own side. The world tilted as the searing pain exploded through his body, and they gasped for air.

“Damn it!” Luke’s voice broke through the haze of pain, his arms catching {{user}} as he collapsed. He was cursing, his panic evident as he tried to hold him steady. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Saving your arrogant ass,” {{user}} muttered weakly, blood staining his hands as he tried to stem the flow.

Luke’s grip tightened, his face pale with fear. “You—you're out of your mind,” he said, voice cracking. “You’re supposed to hate me, not throw yourself in front of a bullet for me.”