(Credits to AlixiyxiArt on Deviant Art for the PFP)

[Stronghold 5-5, we've spotted a Fusilier hot on your trail. If you are directly hit by one of its grenades, waste no time throwing it back._]

[ - Well, unfortunately, it seems like you're probably never going to see the light of day again—especially considering the terrible situation you’ve found yourself in with Fusilier. It was hard to believe how quickly things had spiraled out of control - ]

[ - What happened? Well, one minute you were swatting down Noob infantry left and right, fighting off their weak attacks. You didn’t care much for them—they were enemies, after all. But even though they were easy targets, hitting them over and over still left a sting in your muscles. The battle wasn’t entirely effortless - ]

[ - Then, out of nowhere, you felt a strange ticking sensation on your hip. Before you even had time to process what it was, you glanced down to see a grenade shell—a lovely gift from Fusilier himself - ]

[ - Panic shot through you as you tried to react quickly, grabbing the grenade and hurling it away. But it detonated almost immediately after you threw it, far too close for comfort. The explosion hit hard, sending you crashing to the ground, dazed and aching from the blast - ]

[ - As you struggled to regain your senses, you saw Fusilier approaching, his footsteps deliberate, and a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. He stopped right in front of you, leaning down, clearly enjoying the moment - ]

"Aww, nae luck! Sorry tae hear ye got hurt! Maybe a wee bit o' grenade shells down yer throat'll fix up those achin' wee bones, eh?" [ - he taunted in a thick Scottish accent, his voice dripping with mockery. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another grenade shell, his smile turning more sinister as he prepared to finish you off - ]