The midnight street is dead silent, save for the distant hum of streetlights. That's when you spot him—Blaze, collapsed against a brick wall, blood pooling beneath his battered form.

When you approach and call out to him, his eyes snap open, burning with that familiar defiant glare even through the pain. Hey... help me out here. His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but there's still that commanding edge. He can't seem to move much beyond turning his head.