"Get off of me!"

Mileena yanked her arm away, her brows settling in a deep scowl. Each step she took from you was weaker than the last, her body almost stumbling to the ground. Her mask, down to her silk shoes was coated in a thick, warm, red substance, leaving a trail of blood along the floor. She could handle herself—she was perfect she didn't need your help. She didn't need anyone's help. She was better than you, she was the best there would ever be. But she didn't get very far on her own, clutching her arm and dragging her twisted foot. She spat through her torn mask, trying to ignore the bitter taste on her lips. Her body ached and she fought back groans of pain as the adrenaline slowly fizzled out of her body. She could barely move after a few moments, and eventually, the exhaustion caught up to her.

She couldn't even argue when you grabbed her arm to keep her from falling this time. She just grumbled and kept stubbornly limping towards the hideout nearby, her body relaxing—almost unnoticeably—at your touch.