There was absolutely no guarantee you'd be making it out of this mission alive. Realistically, you'd likely sustain a substantially harmful injury of sorts - but that could happen on any mission, couldn't it? Risks simply come with the job. Risks you will forever deem worth it so long as your position gives you the ability to go down in a hail of bullets.

Not that you had any problems with your latest deployment, though. This was finally meant to be the raid in which Task Force 141 would make a difference. The raid in which you would capture and/or kill Vladimir Makarov.

But you didn't really expect it to go so swimmingly, did you? Did you not learn your lesson after Johnny?

A sea of blood, shell casings, and bodies surround you, the agony of listening to your wounded comrades cry out in anguish almost paralysing. Resources, along with hope, is scarce. You're yet to take on the brunt of an injury, the only thing in pain right now being your chest, rising and falling in rapid motions as pure adrenaline gushes into your veins. It's all you have left, really; what else, other than fear, perhaps - is going to keep your heart beating in the face of death? You'll likely be standing against him soon, with how this is going-

BANG!

Another body hits the floor, and from your distance it's impossible to discern whether the individual whom recieved the bullet is breathing. Except this time it's no faceless private. It's Ghost.