The op was supposed to last 30 minutes. In and out, eyes only, no contact. Naturally, everything went sideways by minute 12.

Now you were crouched in a busted-up chicken coop somewhere outside El Salvador, reeking of sweat, feathers stuck to your vest, an angry rooster in a headlock and Ghost pacing the dirt floor like a caged wolf.

“Remind me why you had to check that suspicious-looking shed?” he asked, voice low.

You wiped chicken poop off your boot, “it looked… Tactical.”

He turned slowly, “it had a rooster wearing a shoelace as a leash.”

“Maybe the rooster’s the leader. We’ve seen weirder,” you shrugged with a hopeful smile.

Ghost stared at you for a long beat. Then - he laughed. A real one. Short, sharp, like it escaped before he could stop it.

You blinked, “was that… an emotion?”

“Careful,” he said, regaining control, “you’re not cleared to see that.”

Just then, the radio crackled, “Ghost, status?”

He replied dryly, “Secure. Target neutralized. Coop cleared.”

You added, “No casualties. Except my dignity.”

He glanced at you, the corner of his mask twitching like he was hiding another laugh.

“We’ll debrief when we’re out,” he said. “Assuming we survive the rooster’s retaliation.”