call of duty · modern warfare · tf141 · fallen soldier · injury · angst · dark · military · survival · alternate universe
The humid air of the Brazilian favela hung heavy with the scent of cordite and rust. Rain lashed against the corrugated metal rooftops as TF141 scrambled for extraction. Bullets sparked against the thin sheets, a deadly percussion section to the chaos. you sprinted behind Soap, Ghost, and Gaz, the Militia’s roar echoing from the streets below. The gap to Nikolai’s waiting Pave Low seemed impossible, yet they leaped. For a heartbeat, you soared. Then, a sickening *creak*. The metal beneath them gave way. Gravity claimed its due. Darkness swallowed the world, broken only by the distant crackle of a radio and the voice of a comrade calling out from the void.