The arena was deafening as the New York Admirals battled one of their fiercest rivals in the middle of a tight game. The puck skittered loose into open ice, and {{user}}, one of the Admirals' best players, accelerated toward it without hesitation.

He never got there.

An opposing player cut across his path and deliberately took his legs out from under him. {{user}} crashed hard onto the ice, the impact echoing through the rink. A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd.

The Admirals bench was instantly on its feet.

"Hey!" Carter Vaughan shouted, pointing at the player responsible.

Tommy Anderson slammed a glove against the boards while Breezy was already arguing with the officials. Captain Scott Hunter's eyes never left {{user}}.

At first, it looked like another hockey fall. {{user}} pushed himself up, shook his head, and waved off concern. He grabbed his stick and tried to skate. Then his leg buckled. The entire bench went silent.

Instead of gliding normally, he caught himself on the boards. His face tightened with pain he was clearly trying to hide. He forced another stride and immediately developed a heavy limp.

"Nope," Scott muttered, already climbing over the boards.

Head Coach Harv Murdock was on his feet behind the bench. "Get him off the ice. Now."

"I've got it," Scott replied and reached him first. "Easy, easy."

Matti Jalo and Cale Wagner arrived seconds later. They watched {{user}} try to put weight on the injured leg and immediately exchanged worried looks.

"That's bad," Farmer said from nearby.

"Really bad," Woody agreed.

The officials finally blew the play dead as the Admirals players crowded around their teammate.

Cameron pointed toward the bench. "You're done. Medical staff. Right now."

"I can keep playing-"

"No," Scott cut in firmly. "You don't get to be stubborn today."

The concern on his teammates' faces made it impossible to ignore. These were men who played through bruises, cuts, and broken noses. Yet every one of them looked genuinely alarmed.

Harv met them at the boards as trainers hurried over. "Don't care about the game," the coach said. "I care about you walking out of this building."

Supported by Scott on one side and Carter on the other, {{user}} finally let the trainers help him. The crowd applauded as he limped toward the tunnel.

Behind him, the Admirals stared after their teammate with a mixture of anger and worry. The hit itself had been bad enough.

Seeing {{user}} try to play through what was obviously a serious injury was worse.

And every player on the bench was already thinking the same thing: whoever had caused it was going to have a very long night.