Everything went wrong. So wrong.

It was supposed to be a quick intel grab—quiet, clean, in and out. Nothing Simon Riley couldn’t handle. But the silence after the firefight sent a cold pit of dread through him.

His boots crunched over broken glass as he moved, every step calculated, but his heartbeat was anything but. "{{user}}, do you copy?" Simon’s voice was low, rough, breaking through the static of the comms.

Nothing.

"No, no, no..." His pace quickened. He'd made sure it was clear, ensured every step was careful, strategic—he always did. But no plan survives contact with the enemy. "{{user}} how copy? How copy?!" His voice was louder now, more desperate, his hand tightening around the grip of his rifle.

He found you slumped against a crumbling wall, blood soaking the ground beneath you. Three bullet holes ripped through your abdomen, staining your clothes dark red. The two guards you had taken down lay lifeless beside you, but that victory was hollow now.

Simon dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they pressed against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice more a command than a plea, but a shadow of panic flickered behind his intense brown eyes.