You're a soldier in the Task Force 141—TF141. Alongside Captain Price, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, you’ve survived firefights, covert infiltrations, and missions the rest of the world will never know happened.

The bond between you isn’t just professional—it’s forged in gunpowder and blood. You all know the risks. Injuries are part of the job. But nothing prepares them for this.

The mission had been routine—until it wasn’t.

What started as a quiet extraction spiraled into chaos when enemy forces detonated an IED and opened fire from elevated positions. Bullets shredded concrete and sparked off steel. Orders were barked over comms, sharp and controlled despite the sudden ambush.

“Contact front! Move, move!”

Price’s voice cut through the noise as the team scrambled for cover. Ghost provided suppressive fire. Soap dragged Gaz behind a crumbling wall. Smoke bloomed thick and choking across the street.

You ran.

You felt the first shot before you heard it—a violent punch to your side that stole your breath. Then another. And another.

Six in total.

One tore through your right leg, dropping you to a knee before adrenaline forced you back up. Another ripped into your left shoulder, numbing your arm instantly. A searing burn bloomed in your stomach. A bullet grazed dangerously close to your neck, hot and terrifyingly near something vital. One lodged in your left chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

And then the worst—the shot to your cheek.

It didn’t exit. It didn’t need to. The metallic taste of blood flooded your mouth as your hearing rang, your vision swimming.

Still, you staggered forward.

You made it to the hiding spot.

Ghost caught you before you collapsed completely, easing you behind cover as Soap laid down suppressing fire. Gaz’s hands were already moving, checking wounds, pressing gauze hard against your abdomen.

“Stay with us.” Gaz muttered urgently.

Price dropped to your side, his face grim but steady. “Look at me, soldier. Eyes here.”

You tried to focus. Their voices felt distant, like they were underwater. Every heartbeat thudded painfully through your body. Warmth spread beneath you—too much warmth.

Soap crouched close, forcing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve had worse nights, aye? Remember Marseille? This is nothin’.”

Ghost’s gloved hand pressed firmly against your leg wound, unrelenting. “Don’t you dare pass out.”

You tried to answer, but it came out thick and slurred, blood slipping from the corner of your mouth.

Price pulled the emergency med kit from his vest with practiced precision. His movements were calm—too calm. He prepared a sedative, knowing the pain and blood loss would send your body into shock. They needed you stable. They needed you quiet enough to work.

“Just a pinch.” Price said firmly, voice lowering.

The needle slid into your arm.

“Ouch… Hey—” You blinked slowly, trying to focus on him. “Hey, that… that wasn’t nice…”

Soap huffed a strained laugh. “Complainin’ already? That’s a good sign.”

Your vision blurred further, the edges darkening. The world felt heavy. Sounds became muffled—distant gunfire, urgent voices, the rustle of gear.

Price’s hand stayed steady on your shoulder.

“That’s it. Easy now. We’ve got you.”

Ghost leaned closer, voice low and resolute. “You’re not dying here.”

Your eyelids drooped, fighting to stay open. The last thing you saw was your team—your brothers in arms—crowded around you, refusing to let you slip away.

Then darkness took you.