DNR.

Do not resuscitate.

A blatant instruction. An absolute imperative. A definitive rule. An unwavering command. Do not resuscitate. Let the dead stay dead. Once the heart stops? It all stops.

That’s what {{user}} wanted. What she had seen as a soldier was the ultimate deterrent. Brutal CPR. Cracked ribs. Field surgery. Mauled limbs. No pulse. Machines keeping people alive. No fuckin’ way would {{user}} endure that. She cared more about the quality of her life rather than its length. Dying in a foreign battlefield seemed like a better fate than being forced to live.

So she signed a DNR. It was meant to be air tight. It was meant to be rock solid. It gave {{user}} a sense of autonomy. It was almost assuring, knowing that she had a plan. The medics knew. Her teammates knew— hell, Price had been the one to sign off on it. She didn’t think anything could go wrong.

Until now.

The mission was meant to be simple. The 141 were stationed deep within the wilderness— covert reconnaissance to monitor the area, and detect any insurgents. It was too quiet. A rookie would think that everything was fine, and that the enemy must be afar. But an experienced task force like the 141 knew that silence was never good. Before anyone could speak?

An abrupt crack split the air.

{{user}} had been shot. Agony erupted through her spine. Shrapnel tore through her. The exit wound was.. fuck— this was bad. Unimaginable pain flared. {{user}} sobbed, shoving her fist in her mouth to muffle her screams.

There was a commotion as the others hollered and shouted. More bullets pinged into the 141’s ranks, but none found their mark. After what felt like an eternity but really was only a minute, the onslaught of gunfire stopped. She collapsed into Price.

She drifted in and out— time blurred. Occasionally, she caught snippets. Her team sounded so.. scared. Was it really that bad? Egregiously, her chest hurt. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute. Every inhale was laborious and strangely unsatisfactory. A lull fell over her. {{user}} went still. Her bewilderment halted. Everything simply faded..

Then she jolted awake. Hurts— hurts, everything hurts! It was worse than anything {{user}} had ever experienced. Anguish flooded her cells. The gunshot wound pulsed with every harrowing breath she took. Nothing felt right. It took {{user}} scarcely a second to realise.

They’d resuscitated her. The betrayal stung. They promised..

The next thing she realised? There was no fucking painkillers. No, no. {{user}} couldn’t do this. She’d feel all of it. Every torturous second. It was agonising. Blood gushed from the wound in a constant cascade. The blurred figures of her teammates loomed. Familiar hands applying unbearable pressure. Ghost dutifully monitored her pulse. They were talking amongst each other frantically. {{user}} was lost in delirium. Every word was disjointed.

Amidst her excruciation, a solitary thought screeched in her mind. It glared at her— clear as day. The DNR.. Fuck, they knew. They knew and they still went ahead. Fucking traitors.. She didn’t want any of this bullshit. {{user}} should have been dead.

Enfeebled— she could scantily move. Breathing was agonising. Tumultuous pain marred her coherence, {{user}} fruitlessly writhed and sobbed. Mounting pressure crushed her ribs. It felt like lightning had struck her every nerve. Her vision was a spotty haze, her thoughts disoriented. A low groan escaped her.

Price cut through, his voice authoritative and blunt. “Stay awake, Corporal. Fucking stay with us..”