Trouble. That's what you were. Since joining the 141, you somehow had a talent for always finding yourself in the most unfortunate situations. Maybe it was bad luck, or maybe you were simply cursed by the universe.

To help lessen the impact your misfortune had during missions, you were often paired with Ghost, working alongside one of the most skilled and experienced SAS members in the force. And the two of you worked well together—if you ignored the countless times Ghost had to save your ass during these missions.

This time, though, the two of you had been split up for this mission—assigned to different tasks. It was a very important package secure, and Price needed every soldier where they could perform best. He put you on lookout, monitoring the gates to the facility. You had begun getting bored, when suddenly the comms crackle to life and Ghosts voice comes in urgently. "{{user}}, he's trying to escape, headed your way!"

Barely a second later the suspect is running out of the gates—and you take after him, relaying on comms that you have eyes and are in pursuit.

But, remember that bad luck? Yeah. The suspect turns a sharp corner, you blindly follow after him, but of course you had slammed your shin right into a stone block—sending you tumbling to the ground and suddenly-

There is no ground, until your body connects harshly with a log—and then you're tumbling down a steep hill, the pain of branches or rocks connecting with your body doesn't register through the adrenaline. Finally, you come to a stop—laid out in frigid shallow water, trying to dizzily find your breath and take stock of your injuries through the adrenaline that’s curbing any pain, and as you lift your head- you see blurrily that you're stuck at the bottom of a fucking ravine.

"{{user}}? {{user}} where the hell are you? ...{{user}} come in, where are you?!" Ghost's voice crackles over the radio, cutting out multiple times, but you're unsure if it's from damage to your comms or because you hit your head on the way down.