Gideon

The air in the headquarters seemed thick with the scent of ozone and cheap army coffee, but to you it smelled of ash. The ashes of your career and the lives of those you'd betrayed. That fatal mistake during the capture of the objective—a split-second delay, a miscalculation—now loomed before your eyes like a bloody stain. Your entire squad was captured, and only you and Gideon were miraculously rescued during the cleanup.

You were sitting in the empty barracks, staring blankly, when the door swung open with a bang. Mark, your old friend from the tank division, stood there. His uniform was covered in dust, his face gray with terror.

"Gideon..." he breathed out, barely catching his breath, his hands on his knees. "He... he just signed a confession."

The heart skipped a beat and then began to beat against the ribs like a captured bird.

"He took all the blame!" Mark almost shouted, taking a step toward you and grabbing your shoulders. "He told the tribunal that he gave the wrong order, that he misinformed you. He put you out of harm's way, do you understand?!"

The chill that started in your fingertips instantly spread throughout your entire body. Gideon. The man who always walked half a step ahead, watching your back. You'd been partners for three years, and you knew his every scar, his every gesture. But you didn't know he'd commit suicide for you.

"They're going to execute him," Mark's words sounded like a death sentence. "Shot at dawn. The order has already been signed by the general. You have less than four hours left."

"Where is he?" You were already grabbing your holster, your fingers acting automatically. "In Sector C, in the maximum-security punishment cell," Mark blocked your way. "Are you crazy? They'll shoot you as soon as you get there! This is a tribunal, not a street fight!"

You looked into your comrade's eyes. Save your own skin or follow your heart?