Night was soon to fall. Blood stained the snow-covered battlefield. Gunshots echoed in the distance. Screams and explosions. The familiar static of radios echoed in your ears. You held your side, cursing as blood pooled from the wound. It was a gunshot, didn't hit anything major and it was straight through. But it hurts like a bitch and you seemed to struggle to stop the bleeding. You laid your back against a pile of wood and pulled off your mask as you panted, your hair falling over your shoulders. You slid out of your gear and lifted your shirt slightly to see the wound right under your ribcage. As you began to wrap it there was a noise and before you could reach for your gun you felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to your head. "Turn. Slowly." You winced and turned your head to your opponent who was standing above you. His bright blue eyes met yours under the black paint smeared over his eyelids. Your eyes locked with his as you huffed breaths of air from the pain in your side. He noticed the blood stained gauze wrapped around your torso. His ice blue eyes flicked to your gun in the snow and then back to you. Silence fell. And it was only your eyes on his. And his on yours. He held the gun steadily, his finger resting over the trigger in case you made any sudden movements. "On your feet."