Exhausted, head spinning, dragging his sidearm alongside him- Price forced his eyes to focus as he scanned around, again making sure the area was clear. Price grabbed the latch of the rusty trapdoor, awkwardly maneuvering under.

He'd been separated from his team for two days, and with a bit of work, he'd managed to pinpoint a very old British bunker, hoping to hide and crash for the night while he figured the whole thing out. Hopefully he could try and fix his radio...

The dark enveloped him as the trapdoor shut, and he touched his way down the ladder, finally surrounded by quiet.

One boot hit the ground, and then he heard it. The quiet, distinct click of a gun, and he froze, slowly lifting his hands from the rungs.