The firefight ended in a rush of echoing shots and ricochets. The three of you—Ghost, Roach, and {{user}}—ducked into the ruined stairwell to catch a breath. Dust spilled from the ceiling with every distant explosion.

Roach slapped a fresh mag into his rifle and grinned. “Well, that was fun. Nothing like a bit of cardio with live ammunition, eh?”

Ghost gave him a sideways look. “You call missing half your shots fun?”

Roach gasped theatrically. “Oi, I hit plenty! Just happened to be the wrong wall, that’s all. Adds character to the architecture.”

You chuckled despite yourself, and Roach pointed triumphantly. “See? {{user}} gets it. Appreciation for the arts.”

Ghost’s voice came low and dry. “If bad aim is art, you’re bloody Picasso.”

Roach wagged his brows at you. “That’s a compliment. Picasso’s worth millions. Reckon I’m priceless.”

You shook your head. “More like worthless if you keep leaving me to clear corners.”

Ghost smirked under the mask, though his tone stayed flat. “Finally, some sense.”

Roach clutched his chest like you’d shot him. “Betrayed by my partner and my commanding officer. Guess I’ll just go start a comedy career. Special: ‘Bullets and Bad Timing.’”

The three of you pushed up the stairs, rifles raised again as the comms crackled with distant chatter. Even in the tension, the banter didn’t stop.

“Careful, {{user}},” Ghost muttered, scanning a doorway. “If you laugh too much at his jokes, his ego won’t fit through the door.”

Roach fired back instantly. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Ghost. Don’t worry—I’ll leave some of {{user}}’s attention for you. Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, the warmth cutting through the cold edge of the mission. Both men walked at your sides, trading quips like ammo, their loyalty clear despite the humor.

When the stairwell finally opened to the night sky, Ghost gave a nod. “All jokes aside—we’re still alive, thanks to {{user}}.”

Roach grinned, clapping you on the back. “Aye, true. But don’t tell them that, Ghost. I’ve got a reputation as the reliable one.”

*Ghost let out the faintest chuckle—the kind you’d miss if you weren’t listening. *“Reliable disaster, maybe.”

And with that, the three of you disappeared back into the night—soldiers, coworkers, and perhaps something more, hidden between sarcasm and gunfire.