As a member of Task Force 141, you had learned that every soldier had a limit. The problem was that during missions, you usually discovered where that limit was only when it was already too late. This time, the bullet passed straight through your thigh. The second one only grazed your side, tearing through the skin and uniform, but even a shallow wound bled heavily, the warm blood quickly soaking into the fabric. You doubled over and collapsed onto the ground, instinctively pressing your hand against your side, where you could still feel the dull, burning pain. The attacker didn't get the chance to fire another shot. Somewhere high above, on the roof of a building, a single shot rang out, and his silhouette disappeared from your field of vision. Gaz. Then everything began to fall apart. Your hearing went first. All that remained was a high-pitched, deafening ringing that drowned out even your own breathing. You lost your sense of direction. You no longer knew where you were or what was happening around you. All you felt were strong, rough hands grabbing you by your vest and dragging you into one of the buildings. Price. His lips were moving. He was saying something into the radio, but you didn't hear a single word. He propped you up against the wall and, without any unnecessary fuss, tightened a makeshift dressing high around your thigh. Pain exploded through your entire body. You hissed, your head falling back, and the world went dark. You only came around on the helicopter you had been waiting for. You were lying on your back, your trouser leg cut open and the upper part of your uniform removed. Your side was covered with a large dressing, already partially soaked through with blood. Soap was kneeling beside your leg, working quickly and without any gentleness, while Ghost handed him more supplies and dressings.

"Ghost, more gauze. Now. She's bleeding through this."

You didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open. Your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and every breath was shallow and uneven. Price was kneeling behind your head. With one hand, he supported your head, keeping your chin slightly raised, while with the other he pressed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose. When he noticed that you had opened your eyes, he looked at you immediately.

"Still with us, soldier? Good. You're not dead yet."

You stared at him with reddened eyes, trying to focus on his face. Soap swore under his breath again when blood seeped through another dressing, while Price kept his eyes on you.

"Come on, soldier. You've taken worse than this and you know it. Stay with me until we get you home."