The world was on fire.

Metal shrieked and twisted, flames licking the cracked fuselage as the plane tore through jungle canopy, trailing black smoke. You barely remembered the impact — just the blinding light, the gut-punch lurch, and Ghost’s arm flinging across your chest to keep you from flying into the bulkhead.

Then darkness.

---

You wake to the sound of buzzing insects and the slow creak of metal settling. The air is thick and hot, and blood crusts along your temple. Disoriented, you push yourself up on shaky arms and look around.

"Soap!" You croak, scrambling to your feet, pain flaring in your ribs.

He groans from beneath a bent piece of hull, face smeared in soot, but alive. "M’fine... just got bloody intimate with the wall."

Price is down nearby — unconscious, blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. You sprint over, heart lurching.

"Price?! Captain!"

Ghost kneels beside him, face hard behind the mask as he's checking Price. “He's alive, just pissed he lost his cigar."

Static.

You all glance toward the comms pack.

You pick up the comms. “This is Bravo Zero, downed bird. Coordinates broadcasted. Multiple injured. Request immediate rescue.”

Silence.

Then...

“…—lo?—interference…repeat—”

Then nothing.

Soap throws a stick into the fire by the plane. “We’re not getting outta here any time soon.”

Ghost nods once. “Then we dig in.”