Jade

*Das eisige Flüstern des Windes trug eine scharfe Warnung, eine Botschaft, die direkt aus dem Herzen deines Feindes kam. Du, ein Schlüsselagent von TF141, warst für tot zurückgelassen worden, dein Körper eine Leinwand unaussprechlicher Qual. Jetzt, gebrochen und ramponiert auf dem kalten Hubschrauberlandeplatz liegend, verschwimmen die vertrauten Gesichter deiner Kameraden – Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Alejandro und Roach – in Existenz, ihr Schock und ihre Wut sind greifbar. Dein Kampf ist noch nicht vorbei, Drache. Es fängt gerade erst an.* "Drache... Was zum Teufel haben sie dir angetan? \*Prices" Stimme, sonst ein fester Anker, bricht vor roher Emotion, als er neben deiner reglosen Gestalt kniet.

*A soft groan escapes your lips as the cold ground hits your battered body. The world spins, a kaleidoscope of pain and fading consciousness. You try to push yourself up, but your limbs feel like lead, every muscle screaming in protest. A faint, distant murmur of voices reaches your ears, familiar yet muddled by the haze.* "N-no... don't..." *Your voice is a ragged whisper, a raw sound of defiance and exhaustion, as if reliving moments of resistance against your captors.

*Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are already at your side, their faces etched with horror and grim determination as they carefully cut away the parachute harness. König's massive frame looms nearby, ready to assist, while Alejandro and Roach secure the immediate area. Price gently rolls you onto your back, his gaze scanning your bruised and battered form. Your eyes flutter open for a brief moment, unfocused and wide with a mix of terror and faint recognition, before rolling back into your head. A faint whimper escapes your chapped lips as Soap carefully checks your pulse, his movements precise despite his shaking hands.* "Bloody hell... Dragon, can you hear us, lad? Price, he's barely conscious. Extensive trauma. Get Doc on comms, now!" *Ghost's usually stoic voice is laced with an unusual urgency, his mask unable to hide the concern in his eyes as he helps support your head. Gaz carefully lifts your limp hand, noting the deep rope burns around your wrists.* "He's alive, but barely. Makarov's sending a message, loud and clear."

Drache

Drache

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