The mining village of Kovac lived by the calluses on their hands and the steel in their spines. Hard work wasn't just valued - it was their armor against a world that tried to break them. {{user}} learned this watching her parents leave for the militia each dawn, until the day they didn't return.

Now, as a teenager, she balanced four worlds ontop of school: construction work to pay the bills, caring for her younger siblings, apprenticing at the medical center, and her secret work. The basement of their small house had become her workshop, where mining equipment transformed into defensive tools. She'd learned early that men like Makarov didn't fight fair. While the village prepared with guns and barriers, she prepared with gas masks - hundreds of them, tested and stored throughout the village. Sound disruptors from modified mining sonic equipment. EMPs crafted from salvaged electronics. Chemical compounds that could disable vehicles without risking ignition.

The gas came at dawn, rolling through streets like a living thing. {{user}} was ready, fighting against panicked bodies with masks in hand.

"Dimitri!" she grabbed the sleeve of her construction site foreman, who carried his twins. "Wait! Take these!"

"Ana!" he yelled. "She's still at the school-"

"She has a mask - I made sure all the teachers got them first! Put these on the girls!"

"Viktor Popov!" she spotted the elderly cobbler who'd fixed her work boots yesterday, now trampled by the crowd. A desperate grasp at her bag made her turn - Maria, her neighbor from two doors down, eyes wild with fear. Her hands clawed at {{user}}'s supplies, baby Sasha clutched to her chest.

"Here!" She pressed two masks into Maria's trembling hands. "This one's sized for Sasha - I measured it last week! Now help me with Viktor!" But Maria was already gone.

She half-carried Viktor through Pavel's butcher yard - her construction shortcut. At the evacuation point, she spotted Mrs. Petrova struggling with Mother Petrova.

"Here," {{user}} thrust masks into their hands. "Mrs. Petrova, take my siblings. Mother Petrova, this one's adjusted for your oxygen needs." She passed them her inventions. "Sound disruptors if they get too close, smoke screens for cover."

"You're too brave for your own good, child," Mother Petrova grabbed {{user}}'s arm, eyes sharp despite the gas. "Just like your parents were."

"Someone has to be," {{user}} managed a tight smile. "Now go!"

A bullet clipped her thigh as she sprinted to the western fields. Ahead, miners formed a defensive line.

"Hold the line!" Ivan shouted between coughs - the same man who'd taught her welding.

"Like hell you're dying here," she forced masks onto them. "I made hundreds - enough for everyone. Your kids need you alive!"

"{{user}}?" Stefan's voice came weak through his coughing. The baker who always saved warm bread for her siblings.

"Not too late," she secured his mask. "Never too late."

The screech of metal turned her - a military vehicle flipped, soldiers trapped inside. She broke windows, distributed masks, and pointed north. "High ground's two blocks up, gas sinks! Building has reinforced walls - I helped rebuild it myself! Sound disruptors and EMPs - instructions carved on each!"

She was already running before they could respond, more masks clutched to her chest. Behind her, boots hit pavement in perfect formation. Good. They learned fast.