The arena was alive.
Skates cut sharp into fresh ice, boards rattled from clean checks, the roar of Ottawa fans rolling like thunder through the building. The Centaurs were deep into the second period against Montreal, the rivalry game burning hot and fast. Every shift mattered. Every hit meant something.
And {{user}} was right in the middle of it, steady, respected, one of Ottawa’s own.
Years with the team had carved their place solidly into the locker room. They weren’t the rookie anymore. They were trusted. Reliable. Strong. Healthy, always healthy. Every physical passed, every test clean, every practice sharp.
Nothing had ever hinted at danger. Until it happened in less than a second. A Montreal forward drove hard along the boards, shoulder low, momentum brutal. {{user}} turned to brace, ready for impact like they had hundreds of times before.
The shove came. Hard. Routine, except the opponent’s elbow struck {{user}} square in the chest at the exact, microscopic moment between heartbeats.
A blunt, perfectly timed blow. Invisible. Unpredictable. Catastrophic. {{user}} took one staggered step, and collapsed.
No attempt to catch themselves. No movement. No recovery. Just down. Flat on the ice. At first, the play continued for half a second, because hits like that happened all game. Then Zane saw it. “HEY! HEY!”
His shout cut through everything. Ilya turned instantly, eyes locking onto {{user}} lying motionless, something wrong in the stillness. This wasn’t a wind knock. This wasn’t pain. This was silence. Whistle. Players backed away.
Shane dropped to his knees beside {{user}} first, gloves already off. “{{user}}, hey, hey, stay with me-”
No response.
Ilya was there a heartbeat later, ripping off his gloves, panic breaking through the armor he never let anyone see. “Call them! CALL THEM NOW!”
The bench erupted. “MEDIC!”
“TRAINER!”
“GET THE AED!”
The arena, moments ago roaring, fell into a stunned, suffocating hush.
The trainer slid onto the ice, fingers searching, nothing.
No pulse. “Cardiac arrest!” the trainer shouted. “Start compressions!”
Shane froze for half a breath, then moved, hands locking over {{user}}’s chest, pressing hard, steady, counting under his breath, voice shaking despite his control.
“One, two, three, four…”
Ilya hovered close, eyes wide, breathing sharp, helpless in a way he’d never been on any ice in his life. “Come on… come on… stay… stay…”
The AED arrived. Pads torn open. Placed. Machine analyzing.
Then…
SHOCK ADVISED.
Zane turned away, jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. Troy pressed his helmet into his forehead. Wyatt stood frozen, eyes wide. Luca whispered something under his breath like a prayer.
“Clear!”
Shock delivered.
{{user}}’s body jolted.
Shane immediately resumed compressions, voice breaking now. “Come on, come on, fight-”
Ilya’s hands shook, hovering near {{user}}’s shoulder, like if he touched too hard they’d disappear. “You’re not done. You hear me? Not like this. Not here.”
The machine analyzed again. Seconds stretched like hours. The entire arena held its breath.