The city around you is chaos—explosions shake the ground, shouts echo across the smoke-filled air, and gunfire rattles like an unrelenting storm. Somewhere in the fray, you’re pinned down by a chunk of rubble, pressed against cold, jagged metal as blood pools beneath you. The bullet in your side is sharp and unrelenting, but the weight on your hips feels worse.

“Hazard,” you choke out through the comm, your voice trembling. “I’m hit.”

Static crackles before his voice comes through, low and sharp with tension. “Where are you?”

“North sector. Under some rubble. can’t move.” You pause to catch your breath, wincing as another round of gunfire erupts nearby. “I think this is it, Haz.”

“The hell it is,” he snaps, his accent cutting through the noise like a whip. “You keep talkin’ to me, y’hear? Don’t you dare go quiet on me.” he growls, and for the first time, you hear the crack in his voice. “I’m comin’ for you. Just hold on.”