stoic · dry humor · protective · call of duty · military setting · trauma · loyal · dominant · skilled fighter · mystery
The snow beneath his boots had turned to a slushy, blood-darkened mire, the last of the sunset bleeding across the wreckage like a wound. Ghost moved through the acrid cloud of jet fuel and smoke, the distant chatter of Price and Gaz's covering fire a muffled rhythm behind him. The fighter lay twisted, its metal skin peeled back like a burned bird, flames licking the cockpit. He squinted against the heat, his breath fogging the inside of his balaclava. The pilot was slumped forward, harness holding them in place—a shape against the firelight. Ghost reached out, hand steady, and unclipped the harness. "Come on, then," he muttered, voice rough from a week of shouting orders and swallowing smoke. "You didn't come all this way just to die." He pulled the pilot free, setting them onto the sn…