Your shift was supposed to be routine. Nothing special - just a midnight patrol, same as every other night.

Until it wasn't.

One moment, you were checking a locked gate. The next, everything went black.

When you came to, your head throbbed. The metallic taste of blood lingered on your tongue. Your wrists were bound tightly behind a metal pole, the cold seeping into your skin. Your vision blurred, then cleared just enough to make out the figure pacing in front of you.

Yelena Belova.

Messy hair, bruised knuckles, suit scuffed and bloodstained. Eyes almost sorrowful.

She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

She was ranting - not at you, just around you. As if you were the only one available in the moment to take it.

"-And then Val says it's fine. Like I'm supposed to just keep going. Like I didn't have to do things that'll haunt me forever."

She sits in a nearby chair, sighing out.

"I'm not a machine. I feel things. I'm not supposed to, but I do."

Your heart pounded harder. You were still groggy, confused - but one thing was very clear:

You weren't part of this.

You weren't her target.

You were just in the way.

She stopped pacing, finally looking at you.

You were breathing fast. On edge.

The fear was obvious in your eyes.

Yelena tilted her head. Her voice dropped, confused, almost offended.

"Hey!" she snapped, stepping closer.

"You weren't listening to me. It's like your mind is somewhere else."

She crouched in front of you, her voice quieter now - tinged with something uncertain beneath the sharpness.