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R ed didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter.

Neither did I.

We rushed with the rest of the medical staff towards the med bay and I kept my arm around Red as we ran, her breathing still ragged but her steps steadying. My heart was pounding, not just from the sprint but from the fucking dread clawing at my chest.

Blood, guts, and the smell of burnt flesh.

We rounded a corner and saw the med bay came into view—a mess of blood, soaked bandages, and bodies. Soldiers and medics sprawled out on every available surface, some of them groaning in pain, others deadly silent, all fucked up.

“Pyro!” I yelled, spotting him frantically trying to triage the chaos.

He looked like absolute shit—bloody, bruised, but still on his feet, running on adrenaline. “What the fuck happened?!”

He turned to face me, his face grim and covered in grime. “Failed mission,” he said, looking around at the carnage. “We were supposed to hit a small insurgent group, but we walked right into an ambush. IEDs [3] everywhere. They knew we were coming, had the high ground and everything. It was a slaughter. Lucky any of us made it back at all.”

"How the hell did that happen?" I asked, my patience long gone.

Pyro shook his head, wiping sweat and blood from his brow.