Snippet #2773029

It was cold. Very very cold. Shadows walked in the fog, casting glimpses to the lone man wandering. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared. It was an uncomfortable place to be; spirits could be sensed there. The spirits of the dead. The man held an assault rifle as he climbed over a pile of rubble; probably a house way back when. He had brown hair, pale gray eyes, and a special forces suit on along with a gas mask. He was shouting for help. He had gotten into a gunfight with a couple of freelances a while back, and he was wounded in the shoulder and side.

If I keep up like this, I'm not getting back to the transport. And if I do, I doubt I'll live. I'm already so weak. So hungry. I need help. He thought. His patch on his right breast area read 'T. Kazanen' In bold, his military initials. He had a couple more good shouts in him.

"I need help over here!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting. He waited a few seconds, then collapsed to his knees and dropped his gun, taking a rest. The warm, uncomfortable feeling of his own blood ran down his back under his body armor vest, and he sighed.


OOC: Is this ok? I'm new here. OOC