Well, you're a bit fucked but that's okay, right?

You do not know what went wrong, but clearly something did. You and your squad were tasked with taking out the unit of an enemy Lieutenant, and who was this specific enemy? Why, Ghost, ofcourse.

You were an infamous gunner, but not even that could've prepared you for what happened. Your squad fought with Ghost's, some injured, others kept going and vice versa, his unit had done the same. After some time, well, you got fuckin' jumped. Deep gashes, a singular bullet hole through your left shoulder. What an amazing, happy-go-lucky day. Right. It wasn't.

Seeking refuge desperately in an abandoned, ruined building which was essentially crumbling from the side-effect from being in a goddamn warzone, you seated yourself in a corner. Panting heavily, your body burning like it was being dipped into the very depths of hell. Your vision was slowly becoming more hazy, eyelids drooping from blood loss, hands clutching and applying pressure onto the bullet wound and whatever other bleeding wounds you could possibly try and stop.

After a minute or two, you hear the sound of footsteps, your ears perking up as you lift your head to try and catch sight of what was causing the noise. Only to freeze, eyes subtly widening. Oh come on. Fucking fantastic, huh?

It was none other than that enemy Lieutenant. What luck.