You sure...?

Havoc fiddled with a radio, trying in vain to contact the rest of the Fallo units. Static buzzed through the device, each attempt more frustrating than the last. Raven sat beside him, doing her best to help, gently adjusting the dials and checking the battery.

Not far away, Blackout lounged atop his rock, calmly cleaning his sniper rifle. Despite the gunfire spraying just meters behind him, he whistled a small tune, bobbing his head in rhythm—seemingly unbothered by the chaos around him.

Fallow and Sear stood together, eyes fixed toward the front lines. Sporadic gunfire cracked in the distance, mixed with the occasional thud of distant explosions.

At the front, Chain, Spare, and Fascia had paused their shooting. A lone figure approached—clearly not UAF. His stride was uneven, and he moved with exhaustion, not aggression.

Spare instinctively stepped aside as the figure got close, leaving space for him. He dove behind the tree, rolled forward, and landed flat on his back with his head resting against the ground just a meter from the three of them. His ragged breathing instantly drew their attention.

Fascia crawled forward closer to him, she was looming over him with narrowed eyes.

“Hi, Fascia. Nice to see you too,” the man said with a weak grin as he began to sit up, prompting her to retract her head.

As he stretched his arms forward, Fascia suddenly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly from behind and nuzzling her head against his.

“Mmm, so good to see you, Tace. I was scared something had happened to you,” she whispered, tears silently forming in her eyes.

Tace lifted a hand and gently patted her head.

“Nothing happened to me, okay? I’m fine.”

Fascia’ hug tightened, her legs wrapping around his waist from behind.

“They said the attack group was wiped out. I was so worried. I told you not to go as an attacker, didn’t I?”

Tace placed his hands gently on her wrists, which were crossed around his throat.

“Yeah, you did… I guess you were right,” he said softly, his voice warm.

Fascia pulled her arms back slightly, crossing them while still holding him with her legs.

“Of course I was. I’m always right when it comes to what’s best for you.”

Tace let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back until he pushed her onto the ground, resting the back of his head on her stomach.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that. You did tell me not to volunteer for support on this mission. And if I’d listened, I’d be stuck with Wrath, listening to his endless complaints… instead of having fun with you.”

Fascia smiled as she gently scratched his hair with her fingers.

“I guess that’s true.”

They shared a warm moment, the chaos of war forgotten just for a second.

“Hey, could you two lovebirds stop with that? It’s distracting,” Spare muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Chain elbowed him hard in the side.

“Let them be. They haven’t been this close in weeks.”

Chain looked back at them for a brief moment before turning his attention back to the front lines. The gunfire hadn’t stopped, and every second mattered.

Not long after, Tace sat back up and grabbed his pistol from its holster. He scooted over to the side where the tree trunk thickened and its roots jutted out from the ground, providing a better cover. Fascia followed, moving with her rifle to take a position closest to him.

Suddenly, the harsh sound of a gun jamming cut through the air, followed by some colorful swearing.

“Piece of shit.” Spare slid down the tree, fumbling with his rifle.

“All good, Spare?” Chain called out, noticing his comrade’s struggle.

“Yeah, yeah, just the gun jamming,” Spare muttered, tapping the side of the weapon.

“Could I have a look?” Tace asked, reaching out his hand.

Spare passed the rifle over, and Tace quickly got to work. He aimed it at the ground and pulled the trigger—nothing. With practiced ease, he removed the magazine and began checking the bullets.

Spare watched him closely.

“So… I heard you mentioned Wrath. Does that mean you’re part of the Wrath Watch?” he asked curiously.

“Mhm,” Tace replied while reloading the rifle. He tossed it back to Spare but kept the magazine, slowly removing each bullet to check them.

“Interesting. I’ve heard that Mimic loves to have fun with that unit. Is that true?”

Tace froze for a second, a bullet still between his fingers. The question lingered heavily in the air.

Fascia turned her head, her tone quiet but firm.

“Okay, Spare, that might be enough questions.”

Spare noticed the change in Tace’s expression and realized his mistake.

“I’m sorry. I was just curious if the rumors were true…” he said, his voice softer now.

Tace didn’t respond with words, but gave a small nod. He finished refilling the magazine and handed it back to Spare without looking up.

Fascia slowly slid down from her position, placing a gentle hand on Tace’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t get upset now,” she whispered with a faint smile. “If you’re all gloomy, how are we supposed to have any fun later, once this mission’s over?”

In the background, Spare and Chain ramped up their fire, sending rapid bursts downrange.

Suddenly —

“WATCH OUT!”

Tace barely had time to look up at Fascia’s face when an explosion ripped through behind her. The blast flung him backward, shrapnel slicing into the left side of his face. The world turned to ringing fire and blurred shapes.

Groaning, Tace lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. When he pulled it back, it was stained with blood. His vision slowly cleared enough to see the shattered remains of the tree that had been their cover, now splintered and ablaze.

Not far away, Spare lay dead in the dirt. It looked like he’d tried to climb back up after the explosion — only to be gunned down. Tace’s eyes darted to find Fascia crumpled on her side, while Chain lay flat on his back, motionless.

“Hey…”

Tace reached out, stretching a hand toward Fascia, but lost his balance and tumbled down the slope, coming to rest beside her. Gritting his teeth, he shook her arm.

“Hey. Hey!”

No response. A tear slid down his cheek.

“Come on…”

Tace pressed a hand into the dirt, trying to shove himself up. A ragged cry tore from him. With both hands planted, he managed to rise to his knees, panting. He looked at Fascia, then crawled over on all fours. Carefully, he pushed her by the arm until she rolled onto her back. He nearly fell over her, catching himself with a hand on the other side of her body. His ear lowered to her chest, straining for any sound.

Nothing.

Tears spilled freely now. Tace sat back on his knees, hands gripping them tight, his face hollow.

“Dammit…”

His hands began to shake. His gaze drifted to the side — to the pistol strapped on Fascia’s thigh. With a shudder, he unclipped it and turned it over in his hands. Then he looked at her face again.

He pulled out the magazine, checked it, slammed it back in, and racked the slide. As he did, a faint rasp broke through.

“Hey… hey…”

Tace turned, spotting Chain. Half of his face was gone, bone exposed, but with his remaining strength he scratched something into the dirt.

C P R

Tace’s breath caught. He looked from Chain’s writing to the gun, then to Fascia. With shaking hands, he set the gun aside, barrel facing away, then gently tilted Fascia’s chin up to open her mouth. He began chest compression.

“Fascia… please…”

He gave her a breath, then pressed again, over and over.

Minutes later, Fascia gasped. She coughed, her eyes fluttering just enough to meet Tace’s tear-streaked face before closing again. But her chest rose and fell. Her heart was beating.

Tace sat back on his knees, staring up at the sky, releasing a heavy sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Chain.”

There was no answer.

“Chain? …Chain!”

Tace looked over. Chain was still alive — barely. He lifted a trembling hand and mimed a gun, pointing it at his own head.

“You sure…?”

Chain managed the faintest nod before shutting his remaining eye.

With tears still streaming, Tace picked up the pistol, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.