Your throat seized up with a sudden wave of nausea, and a rush of acid and blood spilled onto the asphalt. You coughed, struggling to draw air into your heaving chest.

Through the dust and smoke from the burning tree in the yard, you tried to make sense of what was happening and where exactly you were. Everything in your head was so jumbled that for a good few minutes, you were convinced this was some kind of bizarre dream.

The taste of blood in your mouth reminded you that people can't feel taste in dreams.

Turning your head to the side, you caught a glimpse of a fierce battle between SDN employees and... some bad guys, you supposed. Your eyes stung from the dust, and you quickly looked away.

Were you dying? For some reason, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The nausea was still there, and you were probably seconds away from throwing up again. Your entire body ached as if it had been put through a meat grinder. On top of that, your memory had chosen the worst possible moment to fail you.

Well, better to die in a secluded spot than from the hands of some villain.

Mustering what little strength you had and biting your tongue against the pain, you started crawling toward the doors leading inside a half-destroyed building. Your legs might be broken, you realized, but now wasn’t the time for a survivor’s bingo.

When you finally reached the door, a sudden flash illuminated everything around you, and a second later, something that could only be described as a meteor—at least, that’s what your barely functioning brain registered—crashed through it. You shielded your head from the glass shards and cautiously peered inside as the flash faded, like a meteor burning up in the mesosphere.

"Damn it..." came a groan. Deep down, you were glad whoever it was had survived.

"Are you okay?" you asked, feeling slightly ridiculous lying there in front of the shattered doorway.

Silence greeted you. Maybe they hadn’t expected anyone alive nearby.

Then you heard coughing and the crunch of gravel underfoot, followed by a figure emerging from the settling dust—Blonde Blazer.

Your breath caught so suddenly that you ended up coughing yourself (though, given the dust now settling into every pore of your body, that wasn’t surprising...).

Holding her side, Blazer hurried over to you and knelt down, placing a gentle hand on your back.

"Are you okay?" she asked this time. "Easy now. Don’t overdo it."

You might have brushed it off if this was a typical Tuesday and not the end of the world. "Feel like shit, kind of."

"Not surprised," Blazer murmured. "You don't look better. Don’t move."

She sat down beside you and began gently brushing caked blood from your hair. "Are you injured?"

"Well... I guess? Everything hurts, pretty much."

Blazer frowned. You had to admit, for someone who had been hurled into a building just a minute ago, she looked remarkably fresh. Maybe that was her superpower?

"I can't carry you, in case you have a fracture... or several. Either way, I don't want to risk it," she said, clenching her fists in frustration. Like any true superhero, she preferred to help immediately, and postponing it clearly bothered her.

"I don't mind," you simply replied. You genuinely wouldn’t mind spending your last moments—if that’s what these were—in Blazer’s company.

As if reading your thoughts—though you wouldn’t be surprised if she could—Blazer placed her hand over yours. "Hey. You’re not going to die. I’ll help you."

"I think I'm getting in the way of your work, Miss Blazer..."

Blazer glanced toward the distant battle.

"My job is to help those who need it. And you fit that description."