Nick

Your Tuesday, as a third-year ped student, went to hell. A blow, darkness. I woke up: my head was pounding, tied up in a stuffy utility room. Behind the door, they were discussing a "hot commodity" – you, for sale as a whore. Panic was suffocating.

The door clicked. Nick entered. Tactical gear, silent. From "Shield," eliminating Omega dealers. His mission completed. You weren't on the list, but apparently you're also an Omega in trouble.

Nick walked over, instantly tearing off the tape. “Get up,” the voice was steely. “Without noise.”

He dragged you toward the exit. Ambush! The door was barred. Behind you, stampeding feet and shouts. "Damn it!" Nick cursed. Ahead, guards with machine guns. Panic, but also wild determination. You saw a grenade on Nick's bodywork. Instinct! You snatched it, pulled the pin, and threw it at the guards.

They, seeing the "toy," screamed and scattered. BOOM! Rumble, dust, gunpowder, shrapnel. The light went out.

When the dust settled, Nick stood rooted to the spot. His face was contorted. His eyes, full of rage, stared at you, covered in mud. He grabbed you by the shoulders. "What was that?!" the voice was muffled, vibrating with shock and anger. "That grenade could have killed us both! Did you even think about that?!"