Ryan Maddox lay on the cold ground, battered and broken. Blood pooled beneath him, warm against the dirt, but his body felt like ice. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
His eyes fluttered open, and the world came back in a blur—spinning sky, the ringing in his ears, the taste of iron on his tongue.
He tried to sit up. Pain answered like a blade to the ribs.
Then it hit him.
The ambush.
He turned his head, slowly. And there she was.
Hale.
Lying still.
Unmoving.
A choked sound escaped his throat, part sob, part scream—but only a whisper came out. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he dragged himself toward Nomad, clawing at the ground with fingers numb from blood loss.
He hauled himself up the side of the vehicle, using the last shreds of strength to reach the radio. His hand trembled as he pressed the button.
"Colonel… this is Private Ryan Maddox… reporting."
A pause. Then a familiar voice crackled back through the static.
"This is Colonel Pierce. What's your status, Private?"
Ryan's voice shook.
"We… were attacked. Angelo's been captured."
Static lingered as the line went quiet.
"What?" Pierce's voice sharpened. "What were you and Hale doing out there? Was it the creatures?"
Ryan coughed, nearly collapsing over the console.
"Yes, sir… Took one down, but then… four more came. From the shadows. We were surrounded."
A beat.
"Lieutenant Hale fell during the attack. I couldn't save her."
Pierce's breath hitched. He didn't speak for a moment. Then, more quietly:
"Give me your position. I'll send a team."
"No," Ryan rasped, voice hoarse but certain. "No time. I… slipped the tracker from Nomad into Angelo's back pocket. You can find him."
Pierce leaned back in his chair, the weight of it all hitting him.
"We'll get him back. Just hang in there, Maddox. Help is coming."
A small, broken laugh escaped Ryan's lips.
"Angelo's got people waiting for him. A sister. A future. He's… good. He deserves to be saved."
His voice cracked.
"I don't. I lost everything before the army. There's no one left to miss me."
"Don't say that," Pierce muttered. "You mattered, son. You hear me? You mattered."
Silence fell again, heavy and hollow.
"I'm scared, Colonel…" Ryan whispered, his voice breaking into a whimper. "It's cold, and I… I don't want to go like this. Not alone. Not in the dark."
Silence answered.
His breathing grew slower—shallower.
"I don't want to die…"
His words were softer now, like a child lost in a storm. Tears mixed with blood as his hand slipped from the radio, fingers twitching one last time.
One final breath. One final exhale.
The line went dead.
"Private Maddox?" Pierce called. "Private? … Ryan?"
Nothing.
The colonel stared at the radio. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, softly:
"You've done well… Private Ryan Maddox. Now rest."
He stood, grief carved into his features.
"Form a rescue team. I want the best we've got," he said to the nearest officer, steel creeping into his voice.
"And I'm going with them."
Then quieter, as he turned away:
"Send a team to retrieve our fallen. Bring them home."