Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains intense violence, graphic medical scenes, near-death experiences, and themes of betrayal and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.
———
Micquel's POV
I ran toward them.
And of course—they were stunned.
I mean, who wouldn't be? You're moments from death, chaos swirling around you, and suddenly someone barrels in like the lead in an action movie? Guess that made me the unexpected hero. Not that I asked for the role.
I recognized their faces immediately. This time, there were no strangers. Every single one of the Red Team members in front of me—I knew them.
We stood in silence, disbelief tying our limbs in place.
We were just staring at each other when one of them suddenly collapsed.
THUD.
Zarya.
Her body hit the ground like a sack ofbricks, lifeless.
"Zarya!" Reznor's voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside her, panic swallowing his face.
Blood.
So much blood.
"What happened to her?" Skye asked, panicked.
Reznor examined her quickly and paled.
"She's been shot… Zarya? Zarya, wake up!" His voice cracked as he shook her gently.
Nothing.
She was completely out.
"We need to get her to a safe zone—now," Mexile said, clutching her own bleeding arm.
"But the main safe zone's too far," Hermione snapped. "She won't make it that long!"
"There's one nearby," I said. "A kilometer from here. I can get us there."
They turned to me, hesitant.
"Wait—who even are you?" Draven asked, confused and wary.
"No time for that. You want her to live? Then follow me. Move now."
Reznor didn't wait for anyone else to argue. He hoisted Zarya into his arms and nodded. The others followed in grim silence.
I handed my handgun to Draven. "Here. Cover us."
We ran.
The heat was suffocating. The sun bore down like a punishment. My eyes scanned every rooftop, alleyway, shadow—one wrong move and we'd be sitting ducks.
The dirt crunched beneath our feet. Every breath felt like fire in my lungs. Behind us, shadows danced between trees and debris—like ghosts chasing the living.
About halfway there, movement caught my eye.
Three more people in red—being chased by five in blue.
"Hide!" I barked to the group and sprinted toward the new danger.
I passed the red-clad runners, then veered straight into the blue attackers without hesitation.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Gone. Silent takedowns. Clean. No blood spilled where it wasn't needed. I didn't stop to see who they were. I couldn't afford to care.
I returned to the others. The three new reds had joined the group, and we resumed our dash to safety.
Enemy squads were scattered all over—ambushes could come from any direction.
We were nearing the house I started from—my temporary hideout, the one they didn't know about yet.
BANG!
I stopped short. "What was that?!"
"A Seeker!" Draven shouted. He sounded alarmed.
A Seeker? Seriously? That wasn't just bad news—it was disaster. Well, I don't even know what was it, or even know that there such thing exist here.
"We need to move faster! Where's this safe zone?!" Draven pressed.
"There!" I pointed at the house in the distance.
"That?" He frowned. "That looks—"
"Trust me!!!" I shouted, voice sharper than I intended.
He didn't answer, but we kept moving. I caught Solstice muttering something about it being dangerous, but I ignored her.
We made it to the yard. I sprinted to the door.
12123000. I typed the code into the holographic lock. With a soft chime.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a sterile hallway lit by strips of cold LED light.
"You are in the safe zone."
The voice echoed, robotic and calm—eerily calm, considering someone was dying.
"Inside! Now!"
They didn't hesitate. One by one, they poured in. I followed and shut the door behind us.
A flat voice echoed from within.
"This safe zone is now in protection mode."
Perfect. Well, I should pretend that this is Red Team's safe zone, not anyone's hideout.
"Lights on," I said.
Soft white light filled the hallway.
"Reznor, this way." He followed, Zarya still limp in his arms.
We entered a clean, white room—medical equipment lined the walls. Not much, but enough.
Reznor laid Zarya down gently on the sterile bed.
"Mexile," he called, voice trembling. "Please."
She stepped forward but winced. Her right arm was useless right know.
"Mexile's hurt," Solstice said. "She can't help."
"But she's the only one healer we have!" Reznor snapped, eyes pleading.
"Yelling won't fix her," Sol shot back.
Reznor whirled on her. "And standing around won't save Zarya either!"
Their voices clashed. The air turned thick with tension. I bit my lip.
"I'll do it," I said, stepping forward.
Hermione looked skeptical. "You sure?"
I ignored her and approached Zarya. Her pulse was faint.
"How long were you fighting before I arrived?" I asked.
"About an hour," Solstice replied. "We were ambushed. She didn't even tell us she got shot."
Damn. That long? I examined the wound—shoulder, not deep, but possibly infected.
"I need supplies," I said and rushed to the cabinet.
Everything I needed was there. Thank God.
I laid out the tools and cleaned my hands, then got to work.
I cut away the fabric and cleaned the wound carefully. She winced, even unconscious.
My hands trembled as I cleaned the wound.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears—faster than Zarya's pulse.
Each movement had to be perfect. One mistake, and she was gone.
I murmured to myself, trying to stay steady: "Just like the simulations. Just like the drills."
The bleeding stopped, but she was pale. Too pale.
Something was wrong.
I checked her pulse again.
Fainter than before.
No. No no no.
"Zarya…" I whispered.
"What? What's wrong?!" Reznor asked, voice cracking again.
"Infection," I said. "It's spreading too fast."
I sprinted to the medicine shelf and scanned the vials.
There.
First-generation cephalosporins.
I grabbed the vial, filled a syringe, and rushed back.
"What are you doing?" Draven asked.
No time to explain. I injected the dose into her arm.
"You're killing her!" Draven yelled, storming toward me.
My hands trembled, but I kept my eyes on Zarya.
"Please… wake up," I whispered.
I had no monitors. No diagnostics. Just a gut feeling—and fear clawing at my chest.
"You're killing her!"
His voice was a knife—sharp, trembling, dangerous.
I barely had time to breathe before he shoved me down.
My back hit the ground hard. The syringe clattered beside me.
When I looked up, I saw it—his finger on the trigger.
Not fear. Just betrayal.
"She's dying, and you're just experimenting?!" Draven roared.
He is now pointing the gun at me.
His eyes were full of fire. And hate.
Not fear.
Hate.
The tears came then—hot, angry, and unwanted.
I stood and pushed him back.
"What the hell is wrong with you?! I'm trying to save her!"
He didn't back down.
But I turned away. I couldn't waste more time arguing.
I looked at Zarya again, praying silently.
Then—
BANG.
"DRAVEN!!"
---