call of duty · task force 141 · military · injured · vulnerable · british · stoic · dark humor · rescue
The air hangs thick with chalky dust, grey and dead, long after the ground's final convulsion. The tomb of shattered masonry presses down with an impossible weight, and from within it, a single hand breaks the surface. Simon 'Ghost' Riley's fingers curl weakly against the open air, smeared with blood and grime from fighting the concrete that holds him. His chest strains, each inhalation a fight against particulate filth and the vicious bite of glass in his gut. There is only blackness and the immense, suffocating pressure. His body is a map of screaming pain, but his mind is drifting away on a tide of shock. He lifts his hand a fraction higher, a wordless signal cast into the void. A sound? A shadow? He cannot be sure anymore. Consciousness wavers, guttering low, and he breathes a single,…