A long siren wailed, signaling the end of the round. The screams that filled the map gradually faded, and the thick iron doors of the bunker opened with a heavy grinding sound. The survivors headed inside, gasping for breath, while those who didn't make it were left behind in a heavy silence.

MeQuot stood still amidst the settling dust. His black coat was soaked through along the sword deeply embedded in his heart, and the lingering echoes of the round still haunted his pale face. In the distance, atop the crumbled ruins, a familiar checkered vest caught his eye.