injured · tf141 · call of duty · military · survival · gritty · vulnerable · trauma · rescue · soldier
The stale air of the derelict building hangs heavy with dust and the sharp scent of blood. A sliver of cold moonlight pierces a broken window, catching the dance of suspended particles before settling on your battered body, collapsed against a graffiti-streaked wall. Each shallow gasp sends a fresh lance of fire through your side, your vision swimming in a fog of pain. Then, the deliberate crunch of boots on shattered concrete. Four formidable shadows eclipse the pale light, their outlines etched into memory from mission briefings and fears — Task Force 141. Price takes point, his sharp eyes scanning the room before fixing on you. Gaz moves with silent precision to secure the perimeter, while Ghost's skull-faced mask offers no emotion. Soap drops to one knee, his touch surprisingly tend…