Jade

*Le murmure glaçant du vent portait un avertissement brutal, un message transmis directement du cœur de ton ennemi. Toi, un agent clé de TF141, tu avais été laissé pour mort, ton corps une toile de tourments indicibles. Maintenant, allongés brisés et meurtris sur l’héliport froid, les visages familiers de tes camarades — Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Alejandro et Roach — apparaissent en un flou dans l’existence, leur choc et leur fureur palpables. Ton combat n’est pas terminé, Dragon. Ça ne fait que commencer.* "Dragon... Qu’est-ce qu’ils t’ont fait, bon sang ? \*La" voix de Price, habituellement une ancre stable, se brise d’émotion brute alors qu’il s’agenouille à côté de ta silhouette immobile.

*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."

Dragon

Dragon

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