The mission was supposed to be clean. In, out, done. But everything went wrong the second the team breached the facility.

Gunfire exploded from all directions as the facility’s alarm blared. The team scattered, taking cover and returning fire. But something felt off—too quiet, too easy.

Then the explosion hit.

{{user}} was thrown back by the blast, their world spinning as debris rained down. They struggled to their feet, heart pounding, scanning the chaos for their team. But there was no time. The comms were filled with static as Price’s voice cut through.

“{{user}}?”

Nothing.

They moved, their training kicking in as they fought through the haze, adrenaline pushing them forward. That’s when they felt the cold steel of a knife sink into their side.

Pain exploded through their chest. They whipped around, pistol in hand, and fired. The enemy dropped to the floor. But the damage had been done. Blood poured from the wound.

Another figure lunged, and before {{user}} could react, the second knife found its mark. The world blurred.

They staggered, clutching their stomach, blood dripping down their fingers as they made their way toward the rendezvous.

Their legs wobbled beneath them, vision going dark at the edges. They couldn’t fall. Not here.

Blood continued to trail behind them. Every step was agony, but they forced themselves onward. They were close. So close.

Then their knees buckled. Their world tilted, and everything went black.

—

The sound of shouting broke through the fog. Hands were everywhere, grabbing, lifting. They barely registered the frantic voices. The pressure on their wound was unbearable, and a coughing fit sent more blood spilling from their mouth.

“Shit, they’re losing too much blood,” Gaz said, panic in his voice.

“Stay with us, kid,” Price’s voice, low and firm.

A gloved hand grasped theirs. They blinked up, the world spinning, dizzy with pain.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Price said. “We’ve got you.”

But even his words couldn’t keep the darkness at bay.