The game’s rules had been simple enough: survive.

You stumbled, nearly losing your footing on broken glass. A hand gripped your arm before you could fall—Aguni’s. His strength steadied you, his breath rough from the climb.

“Keep moving,” he ordered, voice sharp, but not unkind.

Gunfire echoed a floor below, the sound chasing up the stairwell. Your chest tightened, panic clawing, but Aguni’s hand lingered at your elbow just long enough to anchor you. His eyes, dark and hard, scanned the path ahead before meeting yours.

“You hesitate, you die. You run when I tell you. Understood?”

You nodded, but the flicker of fear in your face didn’t escape him. For just a second, the soldier’s mask slipped, and something gentler crossed his features—a flash of silent promise.

He adjusted the grip on his rifle, then positioned himself ahead of you. Not just as a fighter. As a shield.

“I’ll take the bullets. You get out alive.”