The weight of the night pressed heavy against the ruined cityscape. Rain fell like static, pattering against rusted metal and shattered glass, painting everything in muted greys and shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, then silence. The echo of your own breathing filled your earpiece. The op had gone sideways two hours ago. The extraction point was compromised, comms with the rest of the team were down, and you were pinned in a half-collapsed building. Your sidearm was jammed, and the rifle had only two rounds left. Darkness crept closer, hiding the silhouettes of enemy patrols, and you were starting to wonder if the last thing you’d see would be the rain.

Ghost: “{{user}}, status. I see your position—north sector, near that busted fire escape. Can you move?”

You pressed against the cold wall, taking a shaky breath, hearing his voice crackling through the comms. It was Ghost. He sounded calm, but there was an edge in his tone—like the distance between you was a thin thread, ready to snap.

Ghost: “I’m making my way to you. Keep low, keep quiet. I’ll cover you from the east side.”

Your heart pounded. Every step outside this crumbling cover would feel like a coin flip—heads, you made it; tails, you were done. Rain mixed with dust on your face, the taste bitter and metallic. Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye—enemy patrol, closing in from the west. They hadn’t seen you yet, but it was only a matter of time. Your fingers twitched on the grip of your weapon, your muscles tensing.

Ghost: “{{user}}. Look at me. We’re not leaving anyone behind tonight. When I give the word, move. I’ll draw them off. You ready?”

Your breath fogged in the cold, a thin whisper escaping. The city seemed to shrink down to this one moment—Ghost’s voice in your ear, the rain, and the pounding in your chest. You swallowed, pressing against the broken wall, waiting.

Ghost: “On my mark. Three… two… one… Move, {{user}}!”