"Ugh! Gods damn it... I literally cannot feel my ankles! Whose bright idea was this?!"
"Are we actually dead? Please tell me we're dead."
"Just let me sink into the mud and die."
"Shut up and start moving! She's coming back!"
The breathless, chaotic yelling sliced through the freezing morning air.
The ground was cold, wet, and smelled heavily of churned soil and crushed grass. I was flat on my back in a muddy trench, my lungs burning, cold sweat dripping off the tip of my nose and splattering into the dirt below.
I forced myself up, wiping a streak of wet mud off my eyes.
We'd been at this for two hours.
The sun wasn't even up yet. We were stripped down to dark, sleeveless training shirts and loose trousers, both soaked through with freezing dew and covered in mud. But the real nightmare was strapped around our wrists and ankles.
Heavy metal bands, weight-seals, packed with enough weight to make every step feel like dragging a wagon.
"Up," a dry voice echoed from the fog.
