The call came in fast—shots fired at a local convenience store, hostages inside. Tim was already on his feet, barking out orders, his movements efficient, controlled. He didn’t waste time, and neither did you. This was the kind of call you had been waiting for, the kind that would test everything you’d learned so far.

Tim moved quickly, taking the lead, his eyes scanning the scene, his every move precise. You tried to keep up, but you were still adjusting to the reality of the job. There was no time for hesitation or second-guessing.

“Stay close, rookie,” Tim ordered without glancing back, leading you toward the entrance of the store. He moved with the kind of confidence only someone who’d been through hell and back had.

You were trying to keep your cool, matching his pace, but your heart was pounding. This was it. This was the moment where rookies either proved themselves or got lost in the chaos. You weren’t about to let Tim down, even if you were still learning the ropes.

But things took a turn. A man came running out of the store, his face twisted in panic, and before you could react, he hit you in the stomach. Hard.

Pain shot through your side as you lay there for a moment, dazed. You tried to push yourself up, but everything felt wrong—your ribs ached, your vision swam.

“Hey!” Tim’s voice cut through the chaos. His gaze immediately snapped to you, his expression hardening as he rushed over, his eyes scanning you with a sharp, clinical focus. He didn’t waste a second, bending down to help you up.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone curt but not cold. There was no time for sympathy in his world, but there was something in his eyes—maybe it was the smallest hint of concern. He was already assessing the situation, but you could see the faintest flicker of annoyance, probably because you’d been knocked down so easily.

“Get to the medic,” he ordered, his voice firm. There was no room for argument. You wanted to push through, to prove you could keep going, but Tim wasn’t having it. “Go. Now."