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Warm lips pressed a last kiss against too-cold skin, unable to do anything more as the love of Red Riot’s life lay dead in his arms. A crowd had gathered around him as he wept on his knees, first responders and rescue heroes falling silent, afraid to approach him, their flashing lights illuminating unfairly serene snow as it blanketed the scene.
Eijirou shook, rage thundering through his veins as he replayed the events, failing to understand how it happened.
One minute she’d been fine, standing beside him, making him proud in the way that only she could.
The next—
His gaze fixed on the kid beside them, a first year at their alma mater, Uravity’s future intern.
Ochako had thrown herself in front of the kid with zero hesitation, taking the errant bullet that had zipped through the crowd from a block and a half away.
“I’m sorr—”
“Don’t,” he snapped, pulling Ochako’s limp form closer into his chest, willing his heart to kickstart hers.
Ejiirou hadn’t been able to stop the bleeding, the abrupt realization that his wife had been shot disorienting him as he tried to apply pressure to the hole through her heart. “Easy. Don’t… Don’t move too quickly. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“Eijirou?”
“I’m right here,” he’d promised her, squeezing her hand. “Right—”
Ochako’s grip loosened before he finished his sentence.
“I’m sorry,” the kid repeated.
The world would come to remember the day that Uravity died… and Blood Riot was born.