Your eyes fluttered open, your head was dizzy and sore from previous events and you could feel someone’s arms wrapped around you firmly. Blood was gushing out from an open wound by your abdomen, and the only thing you could feel was pain.

“{{user}}, stay awake!” The voice called out, and you could see those familiar blonde strands of hair fall down the person’s face. It was Mic. You had been stabbed during the war, and had collapsed a little while later. You were dying.