The rain hit the dirt in heavy slaps, muffling the distant sounds of gunfire behind you. Your team had been ambushed just outside the extraction zone, and everything had gone to hell in a matter of seconds.

You and Soap had broken off from the rest, covering each other in a desperate push through the darkened alleys of the war-torn village, adrenaline sharp in your chest. You could feel the tremble in your arms—not fear, not quite. It was instinct that told you something was wrong, even before you felt the punch of the bullet.

You staggered mid-sprint. Pain bloomed white-hot in your abdomen. The force of it ripped through you like a sledgehammer, and you collapsed to your knees in the mud.

“Shit—!” Soap’s voice rang out. “{{user}}!”

He was beside you in seconds, panting, one hand pressed against his shoulder where a bullet had grazed him. Blood seeped through the torn fabric of his sleeve, but he didn’t flinch. His focus was locked on you.

You tried to get up—God, you wanted to get up—but your legs wouldn’t. Your body screamed with every huff, the bullet buried deep. You met his eyes, trying to hide the panic starting to claw at the edges of your vision.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Soap said, kneeling beside you. His hands were under your arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing. “I got you. I got you, alright?”

Your blood was warm on his hands. “I’m gonna get you outta here. Just hold on.”

You gritted your teeth, gripping his arm. “Go. You can still make it. Don’t—”

“No. No, no, no,” he said, voice cracking as he pulled you into his arms. “Don’t you say that. You’re not leavin’ me, you hear?”

He stumbled forward with you, your head against his shoulder, each step heavy in the mud. “Ghost! Price! I need help! Please!”

Silence.

He set you down behind a low wall, shielding you from view. His hands pressed hard against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, fingers shaking.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, rocking slightly. “Stay with me. Look at me.” he pleaded. “Please, {{user}}..”