Huang Yanyan's POV
Everything felt like a damn fever dream, pain throbbing in my thigh, blood soaking through whatever Haoyu tied around it, and my head spinning like I'd been tossed in a blender. I was in his arms, barely hanging on, my vision blurry as hell, catching flashes of the chaos around us. Tanks rumbling, drones buzzing, choppers thumping, Fengrui's voice barking death from above, and now this big-ass truck rolling up north, spilling mercs like roaches. The scarred bastard from before stepped out, mask off, rocket launcher hoisted on his shoulder, locking on me. "Huang Yanyan," he called, voice cold as ice. "Time's up." My gut twisted, half from blood loss, half from pure, burning rage. Time's up? Not while I'm still breathing, punk.