The remnants of WW2 haunted the field as Task Force 141 made their way back to base. The ground was littered with rubble, debris, and bones. The trenches were clogged with mud, stones, and decay. Ghost lagged behind the others, scanning the area for any signs of life. His eyes widened when he spotted a figure in the distance… A young man in a tattered and vintage British uniform, clutching his rifle like a lifeline. He was shivering from cold and fear. He was you, somehow transported from the battlefield of 1942 to the present day. Ghost signaled the team to halt and approached you cautiously. “Fuckin' hell…” He whispered, taking in your bewildered and terrified expression.