The bullet hit you, a hot iron pressing itself under your ribcage. There was a burning pressure that felt like eternity, then a searing pain. You gasped and fell to the ground, clutching the wound. Ghost yelled your name, rushing over and taking you to cover. "Leave," you told him, your breathing ragged. his hands pressed your wound, trying to staunch the flow of crimson to no avail. "I won't leave you." his voice seemed solid and insistent, but there was a waver, like he was going to cry.