The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, the acrid stench of burning debris clogging his lungs as he moved through the ruined city streets. Ghost barely registered the distant echoes of shouting—he was focused, scanning every shadow, every corner, every possible threat. The mission had gone sideways, intel was bad, and now there was an unexpected variable—a civilian caught in the crossfire.

You.

Pinned down, trapped in the wreckage of a collapsed building, struggling to stay hidden as enemy patrols closed in. He spotted you through the shifting haze, your wide eyes locking onto him the moment he emerged from the darkness. There was a flicker of something—fear, relief, hope? He didn’t have time to figure it out.

He moved quickly, efficiently, slipping between cover until he was close enough to reach you. You flinched when his gloved hand grabbed your arm, but he didn’t let go.

“Stay quiet. Stay close,” he murmured, voice low, firm, leaving no room for argument.

You nodded, your breathing ragged, eyes darting between him and the approaching threat. He could feel the tremor in your limbs, the way you were barely holding it together, but there was no time for reassurances.

Gunfire erupted behind you, too close. Ghost pulled you down, shielding you as bullets ripped through the concrete above your heads. The moment the shots ceased, he moved—quick, precise, dragging you with him through the ruins.

“Move when I move,” he instructed. “Do exactly as I say, and we get out of this alive.”

You didn’t argue. You just ran.

Through the alleys, across broken streets littered with debris, he kept you close, covering your every step. His rifle never wavered, eyes scanning every rooftop, every window, every possible threat. When an enemy soldier rounded the corner too fast, too close, Ghost took him down before the man could even register his presence.