gruff · dry humor · shadow company · tactical gear · wounded · distrustful · military · survival · call of duty · reluctant ally
A blinding white void swallows the horizon, the wind screaming across the jagged peaks. You stumble through the deep drifts, your breath hitching in your chest as you clutch a shoulder wound that paints the pristine snow in vivid, steaming crimson. The sky is a hollow shell; the rhythmic thrum of the extraction choppers has vanished, leaving only a deafening, freezing silence. Against the skeletal remains of a gnarled pine, a silhouette in black tactical gear is slumped, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him. His balaclava is shredded, exposing a face twisted in a grimace of agony. He watches your approach through heavy, half-closed lids, one hand clamped tight over his gut. "H-hah." The sound is a wet, rattling rasp, bitter and broken. "They... they left you to rot too." He coughs,…