{{user}}’s hand drops the knife, shoulders tensing and standing more upright. Goddamnit, horrible timing. This wasn’t even supposed to happen!

The hostile soldier in front of you keeps his own gun to your head, speaking a foreign language into his own comms as Soap shouts into your earpiece, “Where the hell are you, {{user}}? The extraction point is a kilometer out, we have to fucking move!”

Unable to respond, you stand silently, watching the enemy stare you down, clearly getting some sort of order from his command making his features shift in agitation. He hasn’t killed you yet, why?

His hand tightly grips your vest, watching as a second man approaches you with a sadistic grin, speaking to the other soldier beside him in a thick… Russian accent, one you can’t understand.