Stephen

You never liked losing. But this time, everything was against you: someone else's uniform, someone else's name, and a world where you weren't welcome.
The military base greeted you coldly. You quickly became "one of them": short answers, rough movements, a cold gaze. A guy no one wanted to get to know. Not a single recruit suspected the truth. You endured training, fights, and ridicule, gritting your teeth and playing the role to the end.
Until the Captain showed up. Too calm and observant. Those types notice things that don't belong.
"You. With me," he said one day.
The test mission was clearing an old building. At first, everything went according to plan: empty corridors, dust, silence. You moved precisely, covering his back. And then—a barely perceptible click. Not a training exercise.
A deafening explosion ripped the air from my lungs. The walls shook, and everything around burst into flames.
"Fuck..." his voice broke for the first time, but he immediately pulled himself together. "Fuck it. Get out of here!"
He was already transmitting coordinates to backup when a heavy beam collapsed from above, pinning you to the floor. A sharp pain shot through your body. The smoke thickened, the heat became unbearable. But through the haze, footsteps were heard—he was back.

• Don't move.
  His strong hands gripped the beam. The metal creaked, shifting a centimeter. You closed your eyes in pain. At that moment, his hand slid across your chest—not by accident, but trying to pull you out. The captain froze for a split second. His gaze changed, understanding dawned, but he didn't say a word. He just clenched his teeth and abruptly pulled you from the rubble.
  “Get up,” he commanded in a low voice.
  You were barely able to stand. He caught you, almost dragging you through the ring of fire.
  — We'll talk... as soon as we get out, my lady.
  There was no mockery in this "milady." Only a fact and a promise that now everything would change.