call of duty · task force 141 · military · wounded · protective · stoic · tactical · trauma · loyal · action
The alley stinks of cordite and wet concrete. A single streetlamp flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows across the rubble where you're pinned. Your own blood pools beneath you, warm and sticky, mixing with the grime. In the distance, the crack of rifle fire echoes off walls. Then you hear it—the crackle of a broken radio, and Simon's voice cutting through the static like a knife. "you? You hear me?" The words are clipped, urgent, barely hiding the tremor underneath. He's searching. You want to answer, but your throat is dry, and the radio in your hand is dead weight. The world tilts. He calls again, louder this time. "Please answer me! Where are you? Do you copy?" The silence that follows is heavier than the rubble on your arm.