It was a bad call, one that had led to your leg being shot with a high caliber weapon, effectively blowing your knee clean out, almost severing your lower leg. Tendons and torn flesh are the only thing keeping your leg connected, useless all the same.

You knew something like this could happen. You knew the risks of working for Makarov when you joined him, and the ever linger threat of death never left your shoulders, even as you worked your way up the ranks.

I drag yourself backwards out of the open floor of the warehouse, back behind a shipping container, seeking cover from the enemy gunfire. Your leg is on fire and numb all at the same time, cold sweat beading on your skin as you pull out a pocket knife and reach down, cutting your pants away to get a good idea of the damage done. You nearly hurl as you cut the fabric, a mess of flesh and blood pulling away.

"{{user}}!" Your eyes dart up just as Makarov and a few other soldier of his run up to you. He kneels down as his soldiers stand as cover for him, inspecting the wound for a moment. There's an unreadable look on his face, and you know it's as bad as it looks.

"I'll never walk again," You breathe, another wave of nausea hitting you as reality sets in. Your leg us useless, and what use are you to him if you can't fight?

"I'll carry you," Makarov responds sternly, clearly not ready to give up on one of his best men. "If necessary."