It was a difficult mission to get through, even for the 141. Running out of ammo, stealing guns and equipment off of fallen comrades/other dead enemy soldiers. Another search for Makarov, another pine box being carried, guns going off in memorial.

The 141 were in the train station, attempting to defuse the bomb before it went off. With Soap and Price working; Ghost, Gaz, and {{user}} were left to defend. Makarov's group then flooded, the fight. In midst of fighting, a blade was sliced against skin left unprotected. Adrenaline running high, staggering feet being pushed to run and kick, too high to come back down.

Once it was defused, everyone was injured. Blood dripping down, running over the uniform and underneath, sending shivers down the soldier's body as it hit their skin. The sudden uneasy breathing causing a puddle of blood in the mouth and tongue, sputtering. {{user}} wanted to puke the blood out. What else was left in their system? They barely had time to eat their MRE.

"{{user}}." A disoriented voice called out. Close or near, ears getting clogged and fuzzy. Brain-fog, clouding the soldier's judgement and knowledge, the heart beating as fast as it could in response to the brain to keep pumping blood to keep them alive.

"I'm hurt. Quick, what do I do?" A simple question, {{user}} asked themselves.. Let themselves bleed out? No, they'll die. Wait for medevac? No, they'll die. No, they'll die.

Waking up in a cold room, beeping and frantic nurses everywhere.

"Kid." John's voice broke the silence, sounding relieved and aggravated by the nurse's still keeping him out of the room as he looked at them. "Let me by, I need to see my soldier." He demanded. 'You'll stress them out', they kept saying.

"No, you don't understand. I'll calm them down. Let. Me. By! They were sliced across the bloody THROAT for fucks sake! I could've lost them!"