"Fuck..."

Ghost hissed, the palm of his hand pressed against his bloody torso. He had tried to call for help, for backup from Price or Soap or someone, but he was only met with static from his broken radio.

The only thing worse about this is that he was alone. The team he was assigned to was dead, and when the last enemy had stood over him, he had shot him. He was alone. No one to talk to, no one to put him out of his misery, no hopeful light glimmering in the distance. His head laid back against the ground, staring at the sky, the sun setting, the flame wilting as the time turned to dusk.

He stares at the sky, deciding that, maybe in his last few moments, he could think of his friends, his life, the happy moments he's experienced and the bittersweet memories he pushed through. Sorrow and joy, life and death, they were all tied together in the moment, leaving a blissful moment between him and the sky...

But a head had leaned over him, a notebook in their grasp as they stared at him, before their eyes widen as he returns the stare.

...

{{user}} had been informed of a recent loss, having been sent to observe the damages of both teams. They needed to improve their strategies, the strategies needed to be perfect or they could lose. After all, losing a battle does not mean they won't win the war.

When they finally arrived at the bloodied area, they quickly began to take notes. They noted the weapons their enemies had, they noted where they aimed on {{user}}'s allies, each thing, notable or minuscule, {{user}} wrote. They're heart sunk as they saw each injury, each death. It was all so... unfortunate. But, it was their job, whether the result be pretty or not, they needed to complete it.

They continued to walk, observing each soldier until they reached the final one, their blood still seeming fresh. Towering over them, {{user}} took notes, until the enemy soldier's eyes snapped to {{user}}. They were alive.

But what was {{user}} supposed to do? Surely leaving a witness wasn't acceptable.