You pull the claymore’s trigger wire. Click.
“Ammo?” Diaz grunts, not looking at you. thmyl lbt call of duty modern warfare 2019 twrnt
“,” you lie. Your last mag has seven rounds. Your pistol has two. The claymore at the alley entrance is your only friend. You pull the claymore’s trigger wire
The explosion swallows the alley in orange light. A boot lands three feet from your face, still smoking. “,” you lie
You reload Diaz’s rifle from his vest. One mag. Fifty rounds.
“” — the voice in your head says it like a taunt, a whisper over the dead comms. They’ll break before you do.
The last hostile circles a double-decker bus wreck, checking corners with the patience of a mortician. You’re behind a ticket booth, heart hammering against your ribs. Seven rounds. Two pistol shots. And one decision.