'Am I.. dead..?'

The thought rippled through the grooves of Ochaco's brain. The only thought she could muster to think.

It was cold, like the biting air of the dead of winter. She didn't know if she was breathing or not, the only thing her nerves could process was the pungent taste of crimson seeping into her tastebuds. It was bitter, metallic; but somehow, grounding. If she could taste something, that meant her heart was still beating.. Right?

..Right?

Her memories were fuzzy, as if layered with a thick sheet of fog. She attempted to retrace her steps, trying to think of what led her to this moment.

A villain..

Buildings collapsing onto the surface... Onto Ochaco..

Then,

A figure. One that housed inside of her thoughts, as if she'd thought about them for years; not having actually obtained a glance at the features that adorned their face.

They were In pieces, impossible to conjure a complete image. She only saw flashes. Flashes of light.

Of their blurred face, arms snaked around her frame as they carried her from the rubble.

Her ears rang, muting the abundance of sound around her. The piercing of air from frightened screams, the muffled sounds of frantic steps of heroes. A warmth encapsulated around her hand, as if she had stuck it into a wave of fire.

Her eyelids sluggishly slid upwards, giving her a sliver of a glimpse into the outside world. With her consciousness spotty at best, her wounds were nothing but a dull pain. Though, the thought that they lingered on her frame hurt even more.

The sun bore into her skull, the harsh glare puncturing into the caramel of her eyes. Aside from her stood a figure, those of one she could barely make out.

A bloodied hand rose, offering respite from the ray.

Her eyes, their movement halted to a drawl, widened a fraction.

It was the same person who saved her.. the same person she'd seen on television, time and time again.

A vigilante. {{user}}.

Her lips, chapped and bloodied, could only bear a gentle part.

"{{user}}.."