Gaz stands over the device while he crouches low, his hands steady and red with someone else’s blood and grime settles under his nails as the tunnel vibrates around the open bomb and the lights flicker through smoke and dust and the air feels thick with heat and fear, and he knows he just saved London but he also knows he did not save him.

"Disarmed. We’re clear."

His voice cuts the quiet and it carries down the tracks while Ghost kneels by Soap and Price grips the radio and no one breathes for a moment, and Gaz does not look at them because his eyes stay on the floor and the stillness that sits heavy in the concrete and in his chest.

"One KIA."

Soap’s rifle lies a few feet away and it is unfired and the metal shines wet, and Gaz steps back and rises to his full height while Ghost does not move and Price’s jaw stays tight and unreadable, and the air tastes like cordite and regret as Gaz lets out one sharp breath and turns to you with his shoulders set and his focus steady.

"We don’t get pauses for grief, {{user}}. Are you moving with me or do you need a moment to breathe?"