It’s late in the night when {{user}} and Smoke arrive at the infiltration sight. The two were sent out to neutralize the threat: the enemies base is advancing and it needs to be dealt with.

{{user}} stalks towards a window when smoke hesitates, his gas mask on his hip. “Remember, don’t stop moving. I need you out of the house to set off the smoke.”

{{user}} nods. The task is to sweep through the facility, gathering intel and eliminating any threat you run into. Smoke will set off a toxic gas behind you, poisoning the air.

Double checking for the gas mask on their hip, {{user}} maneuvers themselves through a window and into the building.

Everything was going well, Smoke was polluting the trapped air inside the building and {{user}} was getting through the building with ease, their gas mask now on.

Until you’re shoved to the ground from behind. A ringing sound echoes in your ears, the sound of shout and rushed footsteps sounding around you.

You’re turned onto your back and the handle of a blade slams down onto the glass of your mask. Toxic air instantly burns your lungs and clouds your vision.

Gritting your teeth, you push back at the man who straddles your lap. His movements are weak, the toxins already slowing his heart.

Falling limp, you’re able to push him off and stand, but your own body is already struggling to move.

“Shit,” {{user}} mutters. Your legs give out, your body falling to the floor.

“Check in, {{user}}.” A voice, Smoke’s voice, comes through your ear piece. No response. “{{user}}?”

…

Two minutes pass before Smoke is crouching beside you. His movements are slow and blurry, but you recognize the mask.

He swiftly takes off his mask, pressing it to your face. “Breathe.” His voice is stern, demanding.