Call of Duty Oneshots (Mostly Ghost)

resurrection.

Scarlet seeped out from the circular laceration bestowed upon me by a fellow teammate. An attempt to ensure someone else's - Mace's to be exact - well-being brought upon my own downfall.

A soldier known to have such a thick coat of enemy's blood on their hands, I'd quickly turned into what we were fighting against all from an act of selflessness.

Karma sure had a keen sense of humor.

All hell had broken loose the moment we set foot on solid ground, ambushed by stolen humanity sickened with an incurable plague.

In an instant, a sea of cheekless faces and torn uniforms flooded the streets as if they sensed us coming from a mile away, anticipating like a shoal of starved piranhas.

Electricity, as if a bolt of lightning had surged through my skin, started from the edges of where teeth had met unsuspecting skin and continued its rampage up my upper arm. I grunted in pain as I slumped to the ground, surprise and confusion unpleasantly swelling in my chest as the charge of electricity met the emotions there.

Pins and needles prodded each hair follicle as if they were electrically charged spikes spanning from the broken skin instead of tissue.

As painful currents quickly pulsed through my veins, the stimulated energy and adrenaline from the battle felt as though all of it were being sapped from an ever-pouring tap with each beat. I let out another groan, rubbing the blooming tension of my forehead with the same tingling hand.

Gunfire continued to rain nearby, but a rhythmic ringing in my ears began to muffle any and all sounds from outside my body. An invisible force just below my epidermis wanted to steal all of my senses, pilfering my auditory ones first.

Thin streams of crimson leaked darker hues from my arm with every passing moment, the dirt beneath me drinking every drop.

Cement became the walls of my veins and arteries, spinning my blood into sludge. Every ounce of me weighed down with such a dense, alien substance, it felt as though my lungs fought for every breath as they filled, too. Sticky and wet were my coughs, black blood making splatter art on a tan canvas.

The muscles in my shoulders tensed up first. Not even a second later, a ripple of seismic proportions seized my body. Every muscular fiber clenched, and I could hardly gag out a breath until they relaxed.

I kept position. Mace had long run off in search to sniff out more victims who had clean blood, and I needed a way to look after my team when my conscience eventually lost its battle. It would take more than just keeping my distance as there was no doubt that this version of me tearing its way through my immune system would find them.

Panic ensued as my vision blurred, forcing me to counter it on my hands and knees. It swam around me, dizziness, lulling me into a dark abyss where I'd finally be able to escape the pain and bloodshed.

However, my duty had not been fulfilled just yet.

I'd fought too damn hard for my sacrifices to be in vain.

My dying conscience had been stained too many times, but I refused to lose completely.

I had to have the final say.

And damn it, I'd have my vows respected even in death.

I knew how to sever a maw into two, but to do it to myself in such a crippling condition seemed impossible. Death knew me then just as much as it had a hold on my throat now, but this time, its grip dragged me much quicker than before. Spiraling down, down, down, I was running on very limited time.

I had seconds to spare.

Milliseconds.

Death's glave raised above my head, aiming for the exact point where collarbone and throat met, and I braced for impact while contemplating my abilities with not even enough time left to take half a breath. The air shifted as their arched blade hurled straight for me, the sharp whistle only heard by my ringing ears, a peaceful silence then following.

I took my two hands and gave one, hard tug-

A bloodied finger twitched, disturbing the bordering blades of grass. Slowly, movement from more fingers began to follow, the muscles spasming to life. A twitch here, a curl there.

They worked together as they steadily remembered what it was like to move again. To live. Synapses fired at one another, slow at first before ricocheting so powerful it made his whole hand clench together.

A groan that sounded so eerily close to the man whose throat had emitted such a guttural grievance, resonated from the jaw-slacked mouth, a sound of a successful resurrection. Arms and legs bending, creaking, hoisting up a corpse in gear, he rose.

With a blank expression, devoid of any and all emotion, his clouded eyes scanned the field for anything within reach. Anything...

Living.