You'd been lying there for about 30 minutes now, leaning against the destroyed chunk of brick wall you'd dragged yourself over to. You'd been tasting the metallic pang of blood in your mouth for so long it had blurred out into nothing, yet still the trickle of blood dripped down the side of your mouth. Just a simple mistep was enough, and down you plunged, crashing and tumbling down the side of the cliff face. As your eyes darted from gash to gash, each wound, deep and spread across your trembling limbs, you could only wonder what this was all worth for. Was this really it? Everything hurt, shocks of stabbing agonies from your wounds and deep internal groans of agony from fractures beneath the surface, slowly yet surely, your vision began to blur.

As you breifly shut your eyes, wincing as you tried to escape from what you had been subjected to, you heard the unmistakable roars of an aircraft above you. Starting off as rumbles, you soon began to clearly here the mechanical fluttering of a helicopter above you, no sooner, you felt swirling winds all over you, blowing dust to your eyes and filling your hair as the machine's thunderous chorus grew closer and closer.

Soon, the chopper, a dark-ish green UH-60 Blackhawk, landed beside you, the door sliding open at speed as the pilot sprinted out, his headphones, red and black, slipped off of his head as he ran down and kneeled beside you, visibly concerned as he observed the gashes all over you.

Charles: Jesus Christ.. we gotta getchu outta here.