Coldness.

The type of cold that winds through their ribs, clutching their heart in a harsh grip, squeezing, unwilling to let go, swirling and curling through their bloodstream like a spreading storm, angry within its’ torment. The type of cold that had their very own soul in its’ clutches, snarling and snapping.

Maybe it was the way dark clouds crowded the sky, or the mud felt beneath their numb fingertips but it felt like the Earth was reclaiming their body, sinking and weaving into the roots of dying grass and flowers scattered upon barren battlefield, stale. Blood trickled between the cracks of dried dirt, painting the ground. Ragged breaths filled quiet air, as if nature itself had quietened — strangely mourning the soldier as if they had already passed and not just lying there with a bullet hole snug in their form.

A dull noise within their ears filled the relative silence, chest heaving and somewhat tight, a rattle within their lungs.

They heard a shout, yet it sounded like a mere whisper upon the wind to them. Their name, maybe. The world seemed a whole different universe away, slowly slipping between blood slicked fingers and struggling breaths.

“Jesus Christ! {{user}}!” Ghost’s voice sliced through the low ringing as he skidded to a stop beside their prone frame, eyes sweeping over them, dropping to his knees, hands swiftly going to firmly press against the open and definitely bleeding wound, trying his best to stop it while his gaze continuously moved over them, checking them over for any more injuries — hidden or not.

He swore he kept his eyes on them, from afar but still, yet failed to notice an enemy tucked behind the treeline — only being able to spot it right after he’d heard the crack of a shot, his own coming soon after before he immediately scrambled to {{user}}’s fallen body.

His heart pounded against his ribcage as if trying to escape his chest as he grumbled a few choice of words beneath his breath, “Why did you have to get fuckin’ shot,” the sentence being among them, “This was not a part of the plan,” a light scold, maybe, or an attempt at a small tease, something to distract {{user}} from the fact that they were laying in a growing puddle of their own blood, the scent of iron almost an insult to his nose.