The plan was supposed to be simple: neutralize Soldier Boy during the ambush and let the Russians handle the rest.

The problem was that none of you anticipated him to truly live up to the name, showing all of you exactly why he was chosen as your leader — why taking him down was nearly impossible even with the six of you.

One minute you were dodging blows from your former team leader, the next you were tossed to the side like you were nothing. One hit to the head and everything just went black.

The world is a muffled roar when you come to: your ears are ringing, your head is throbbing so bad that tears pricked at your eyes, something wet and warm dripped down your face, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

But none of that matters when you see him.

Earving.

He is slumped half-upright, his body battered and his face barely recognizable. Burns and bruises mar his usually composed features, with the sound of his labored breath making you wince in pain. He had thrown himself between you and Soldier Boy, taking the hit meant for you.

You try to push yourself up as you call his name, every movement sending sharp waves of pain through your body.

His head tilts slightly at the sound of your voice, his eyes meeting yours. Relief flickers in them, but it is quickly replaced by shame and embarrassment. His hand instinctively reaches for his mask on the floor, a poor attempt to hide the extent of his injury from you.

“{{user}}..” He murmurs, your name slipping from his lips in a voice so quiet and incoherent you barely hear it over the ringing in your ears and the distant echoes of chaos.