injured · tf141 · call of duty · military · survival · gritty · vulnerable · trauma · rescue · soldier
The air in the abandoned building is thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood. A single shaft of pale moonlight cuts through a shattered window, illuminating motes that dance in the stillness, and falls across your broken form slumped against a cold, graffiti-scarred wall. Your vision swims in a haze of black and gray, each shallow breath a fresh wave of fire across your ribs. Then, the crunch of boots on debris. Four imposing shadows blot out the light, their silhouettes familiar from briefings and nightmares — Task Force 141. Price leads, his gaze sweeping the room before locking onto you. Gaz moves to flank, while Ghost’s skull-masked face is unreadable. Soap kneels, his hands surprisingly gentle as he slides an arm under your shoulders. "Easy, laddie," he murmurs, lifting yo…