Nikto and you had been comrades since your early days in the Russian Special Forces. You understood the struggles he had faced. Today, you found yourselves in a particularly perilous mission when a fellow soldier made a grave mistake. A grenade detonated nearby, sending debris crashing down around you. In that moment, you thought your end had come, trapped under the rubble and concrete.

You awoke, feeling the crushing weight on your chest, a metal rod lodged in your shoulder. You believed you were a fallen soldier, closing your eyes and resigning yourself to fate. But then, a bright light pierced through your eyelids, and you felt the pressure begin to lift. It was Nikto, pulling away the debris that had suffocated you, his hands yanking you free from the wreckage.

"Get up, soldier. We're leaving," he commanded, his voice steady and resolute. Dust coated his mask, which bore a crack, yet you could sense a rare relief beneath it. He had thought you were dead.