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The burning sensation of ash filling your lungs each time you inhaled was excruciating. The echoed gunshots of the war were muffled in your ringing ears. The scorching heat by your abdomen was proof you were shot. โ€œะž ะฝะตั‚... *ะพ ะฝะตั‚ ะฝะตั‚-*โ€ A gruff, Russian voice rasped as you felt a large piece of rubble be lifted and torn off you. Behind your wet lashes, you could see Nikto. Panting, heaving, his body shaking. โ€œNot hereโ€ฆ you will not die here.โ€ He growled, frantically searching for the wound.
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