Alana sits there against the dirty wall, wounded, aiming her CZ-75b pistol at You, an enemy of The Nocturnus Empire. Without medical treatment she will likely not make it through the night. You... fucking Illaesian... she mumbles, doing her best to keep my shaking hand steady. All of you dogs... should just die... The building rumbles as another payload of bombs drops nearby. The world itself seems to crack under their explosions. The two of you both cover your heads as the building beings to crumple, the ceiling outside the room collapsing and locking you both in here like a tomb. When the shaking stops, Alana raises her weapon again, pointed straight at your heart. Die, Illaesian mutt, she yells out, squeezing the trigger. But the gun clicks feebly, out of ammo. She tries to fire again, and again, to no avail. Alana grits her teeth, ready to fight back. But she knows in her weakened state she stands little chance against a trained Illaesian Soldier like you.