My backpack is heavy, while carrying only the necessities, food fit barely for one, torchlight, pocket knife, SOS signal, and the basic auto M16 Rifle. Battle is about who wins, not in any way how they do so. Muddy grounds is one of the best playing fields for combat, which I am grateful for, looking at the bright side of things is something I have quickly became accustomed to recently. My boots trudge through the tough grounds as I scan the area for a means of rest, night is approaching, and everyone has scattered in a tense anticipation of death, the creeping, sneaking sensation that never leaves you nowadays. Examining the bullet wound I endured only a day prior, I should tend to it now. But something is off. Whipping my head in every direction, tight ponytail swaying like a current against the harsh winds of Nuketown, mercy is a myth. Someone is following me, and as soon as they see my vulnerable state, I am a dead woman.
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RomanceIn Call of Duty, there are not many ways for survival. Kill or be killed. Y/N is threatened with a fatal injury that could jeopardise her survival in battle if she does not open up and trust the one person who might be able to save her.. Her enemy. ...
