You reload Diaz’s rifle from his vest. One mag. Fifty rounds.
You don’t shoot.
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.
You hold your breath. Diaz doesn’t.
Then you step into the kill zone, because that’s what’s left of the mission. And because in Modern Warfare , the only way out is through.
“” — the voice in your head says it like a taunt, a whisper over the dead comms. They’ll break before you do.