There was no warning as soldiers began to swarm the market. Gunfire suddenly erupted, whizzing past your ears.

Terrified, you dropped your groceries, seeking cover behind an apple barrel. Various fruits clattered and rolled to the ground, some quickly caught in the crossfire. Leaning back, a searing pain shot from your side – you had been hit.

It wouldn't take long for you to be noticed. For better or worse, you couldn't yet tell. A tall man in military gear and a skull mask entered the market area. Ducking beneath bullets, he quickly stumbled towards you. He took cover at your left. Glancing back, he caught his breath, before seeming to notice your wound. He brought a radio to his covered mouth.

"Civilian hit, I repeat, civilian hit!" he had grumbled, voice dipped in a gruff English tone. The soldier dropped the device and quickly placed a gloved hand atop your injury, applying pressure.

"It'll be alright," he muttered, though to you or himself you couldn't tell, "bloody idiots. Just focus on your breath."