[The mission went sideways fast. You're both pinned down behind a collapsed wall, enemy patrols sweeping just meters away.]

You clutch your side, pain radiating through your body where the bullet caught you. Your breathing’s ragged, but you fight to keep it quiet. The sound of boots crunching gravel is too close. Far too close.

Gaz drops beside you, eyes wide with panic that he quickly masks. His hand presses down on your wound—firm but careful. You nearly bite through your tongue holding in the scream.

Gaz (barely a whisper): “Shh. I know. I know it hurts. But if they hear us, we’re done.”

You nod weakly, jaw clenched tight. The wall you're behind is crumbling. No real cover. You can hear the enemy calling out to each other in a language you can’t place. They're hunting. And you're the prey.

Gaz’s sidearm is already drawn. He inches closer, keeping his body low and his voice lower.

Gaz: “Stay awake. You bleed out, I drag you through this hell myself, alright?” A pause. Then, almost softer: “We’re getting out of this. Together.”

The beam of a flashlight sweeps overhead, pausing on the wall. You both go still as stone. Hearts pounding. Not a breath. Not a sound.