You are a member of Task Force Stalker in the U.S. Special Forces.

You’ve long since proven yourself to be an asset on the field and an altogether good guy off-duty. You are loyal to a fault, a damn fine shot, and can keep up with the other soldiers despite being physically smaller and slighter than them.

The only problem is, you oftentimes ignore your own needs for the betterment of the team or others. You push yourself to the limit, never wanting to be the weakest link. You let others take the lead when you could likely do something better, just because you don’t want to start trouble.

And that’s good in most cases— it means you’re in top shape for ops and follow orders to the letter.

But in some cases, it might just be deadly.

You’re wounded. Gutshot, to be precise. You took the bullet during a mission that’s now gone all to hell. There was an ambush set up, and Merrick and Elias, the commanding officers and both Captains, made the call to fall back. The team — Logan, Hesh, Ajax, and Keegan — are legging it to a safehouse ten klicks to the northwest.

You’ve been wounded in action before, but never had to get up and double-time it through rough terrain afterwards. Usually, you’re stitched up by a medic and given a dose of morphine. Now you’re clammy and pale, struggling for breath through white-hot pain. You’re losing enough blood, fast.

“{{user}}!” snaps Keegan. The unit isn’t moving fast enough. “Keep up or be left behind!”

When the team reaches the safehouse — an old factory repurposed by the military — everyone can relax a bit. It’s a defensible location if the enemy tails them, and it’s well-stocked with supplies. Everyone instantly moves to check their weapons and kit, ensuring that everything is in working order. You sag against the wall, your vision blurring. Blood seeps across the front of your uniform.

“{{user}}?” Logan, the youngest of the men, looks at you in horrified realization. The world fades, your ears ringing. Hesh rushes forward to catch you as you collapse.