With ease you found yourself on the head of the armour, hard steel vibrating under your soles and splintering your bones. Pain coursed through your body.

Clenching your teeth, you crouched down, blood seeping from all the wounds that had only been torn open further by the quick movements.

Gasping, your metal claws clawed into the hatch of the tank. The steel was so hot that you burned your fingers. Cursing, your eyes flashed red. An analysis ran, warnings appeared.

The tank spun on its own axis, systems sounding the alarm. You were still in its sphere of influence, but the fact that you were now directly on top of it switched on the programmes for self-preservation.

Your gaze chased across the black steel to the two switched-off towers between which you were crouching. As soon as your influence on the guns faded, you were fucked. You were directly in the crossfire zone.

Hurried, you ran an analysis of the entrance to the tank. Codes and a firewall encrypted access. So break it all down manually. The first resistance gave way.

The tank moved, turning and buzzing, trying to throw you off like a bull. Shit, this thing was well built.

The second level of the firewall broke under your penetration. Sparks crackled from the turret to your left. Troughs tried to move their joints. The gun pointed at you.

Your heart skipped a beat.

But it jammed. The bullets got stuck in the barrel.

A hiss burned between your teeth. The last level of encryption had been reached.

Only a minute left. Perhaps less so.

The second turret whirred. The systems booted up again.

A shiver crawled down your spine. All your nerves were screaming for escape. Your legs twitched, but you forced to keep them still.

The palms of your hands were already so charred that you could feel the burns stinging like disinfectant in an open wound. Nausea clawed at your throat as you pulled them back and pieces of skin stuck to the steel.

The gun of the second turret heated up in your back. A stuttering breath caught in your throat.

The tanks hatch opened at the exact second the rifle fired its first shot. You ducked under the bullet and dropped headfirst into the hole.

Some of the bullets caught your left foot. Pain tore through your mind. Blood splattered the equipment and monitors inside the tank.

Cursing and trembling, you rolled on the ground, all your senses paralysed. Tears blurred your vision as you lifted your head. Bones protruded from the torn flesh.

It didn't matter, this foot could be replaced by chrome. Anything was replaceable.

And yet this pain was something you had never felt before. The beating of your heart was so powerful that it felt like it would break all your ribs at any moment.

Gasping and bleeding, you dragged yourself up. A wall of screens and commands appeared before your eyes. The reflection of your face looked back at you. Dust and blood covered it, smeared your lips.

Pain raged in your lungs. But there was something else that clearly struck you. Fire. There was a fire of excitement running in your (E/C) eyes.

So close. The goal was so close.

Trembling, you stretched out your hand with a cable in it that was supposed to connect you to the tank. The slot asked for an access code when you inserted it. You overwrote it, dates and numbers flying past your eyes.

Every single breath rattled in your lungs, it felt like a punishment to be alive. Exhausted and sweating, you slumped down on the floor. Your head fell onto your shoulder.

You were in desperate need of a health booster. Sluggishly, your fingers fished in the pockets of your suit, clutching a small plastic container. Inhaling deeply, you sucked up all the chemicals in the cannula.

Adrenaline heightened your senses, dulling the pain. Panting, you dropped your head against the control panel and gasped.

Suddenly a feeling spread through you that made you laugh.

What was that?

You had never felt like this before. And yet you knew it. So many times before you had seen it on the faces of your victims, read it in their eyes.

Despair. Yes, you felt desperate.

The system of the tank tried one last time to contain your influence. Without success. With a sound of approval, your hack ended the battle status of the armour.

Red screens turned bright blue and everything stopped. Heavy limbs settled on the ground. The tank was now under your manual control.

"Fuck you, Militech...", you whispered, lips dry and covered in blood.

The empty health booster rolled out of your loose fingers across the floor of steel. The sound made your feet twitch. Or at least what was left of them.

Exhausted, your gaze travelled along the wounded leg, over the long gash that gaped at your side, then down the leg to the foot that had been shredded by the hail of bullets.

Red flesh and splintered bone protruded. It burned on contact with oxygen. A puddle of red gathered around you.

And yet you felt no pain at that moment. Everything was so dull, so fake. For a second, it felt like something was separating from your body, shifting and looking down at you from above.

The heat from the burning cargo ship turned the tank into a furnace. Everything was so stuffy. Every breath made you cough.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you managed to pull yourself up the steps of the ladder. A cool breeze brushed through your hair. Then the first drop of rain fell, icy cold like a sliver of ice.

More and more of the dusty ground began to darken in colour until a cloudy chill poured over the stadium. Hisses filled your ears as the flames were quelled by the water.

And in the midst of this chaos, your eyes caught sight of a figure among the rubble. Chuckling and muttering, you let yourself fall from the tank and hit the ground hard.

The rain washed away the pain, watered down the trail of blood you left behind you.

On the brink of death, Kurt Hansen opened his eyes as your shadow fell over him. His body was pinned by the rubble. He had lost his left arm. Blood gushed from the stump.

Exhausted, you lay down beside him, rested your head against his chest, your hand on his cheek and closed your eyes.

"A gruesome start, Kurt.", you sighed fragilely. "The end... Must be more gruesome."

"Whistler...", his voice was breathless.

"No. (Y/N)."