- Half held the defensive line
- A quarter slept
- A quarter gathered food, water, and materials
- Price, weighing risk versus necessity
- Ghost, suspicious but practical
- Nikolai, pointing out that an extra pair of hands could save lives
THE GIRL IN THE RAVINE
Act 1 — Months of War, No End in Sight
TF141 — Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, and Alex — had been trapped on the same battlefield for months. No extraction. No reinforcements. No supply drops.
Just survival.
Makarov’s forces attacked in unpredictable waves, sometimes small squads, sometimes full pushes. Their only saving grace was the narrow ravine they’d fortified — a natural choke point that prevented Makarov from overwhelming them with numbers.
Sleep came in scraps.
Food ran out weeks ago.
Injuries were constant.
They hunted, foraged, and rationed every bite.
Their rotation was brutal but necessary:
Every six hours, they switched.
It was miserable.
It was exhausting.
It kept them alive.
Then they found her.
Act 2 — The Girl in the Forest
Price, Ghost, and Nikolai were out gathering — checking snares, tracking small game, searching for edible plants — when they stumbled upon something none of them expected.
A girl.
{{user}}.
Collapsed in the forest, unconscious, breathing but barely responsive.
She wasn’t dressed like a soldier.
She wasn’t armed.
She wasn’t injured from combat.
She simply didn’t belong there.
They argued quietly:
In the end, survival won.
They carried her back to the ravine base — not because they trusted her, but because they couldn’t afford to waste a potential asset. Someone who could fetch water, clean gear, sort supplies, or help with tasks they no longer had the strength for.
They laid her on a spare cot in the back of the shelter.
Then they left.
They didn’t have the manpower to assign a guard.
They didn’t have the luxury of babysitting.
They barely had enough bodies to keep themselves alive.
So they went back to the line.
And she slept alone.
Act 3 — The Girl With No Memories
Hours later, {{user}} woke up.
Not to voices.
Not to people.
Not to explanations.
Just silence.
The shelter was empty — cots unmade, gear stacked, weapons leaning against crates. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and metal. She blinked at the ceiling, confused, disoriented, and completely alone.
She pushed herself upright, head pounding.
She tried to remember something — anything.
Her name came first.
“{{user}}.”
But everything else?
Nothing.
No age.
No birthday.
No family.
No memories.
No sense of how she ended up in a warzone.
She stood on shaky legs, gripping the edge of the cot until the dizziness passed. The ground trembled faintly — distant gunfire echoing through the ravine.
She didn’t know where she was.
She didn't know who she was.
She was lost in every version of the word.