Ghost always had things that seemed to go awry no matter what he did. He’d made it a habit to not enjoy a good thing when it’s there.

Alternatively, things have been…decent for once. It was almost as if whatever demon that haunted his life was replaced by some sort of guardian angel. ‘About bloody time…if that shite even exists.’

Although lately his good luck streak had narrowed and felt more…lonely, without actually missing anyone.

Now he was being sent out again, and after missions that brought more frustration than relief he wasn’t thrilled to hear this mission was out in a minefield. With a new group entirely. ‘Fuckin’ hell…’

After a quick brief in the chopper, he led the team toward their first checkpoint.

Little by little they navigated the area, missing hair triggers and invisible traps. The closer they’d get to the objective the more Ghost felt as if his bad luck streak was ending. Until he suddenly heard his name, then felt himself being tackled to which he instinctively scanned the area a second time…a half covered land mine that he nearly stepped on.

Didn’t stop {{user}} who shoved him out of the way and caught a jagged slice of metal for it.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost exhales. The trap that nearly ended him—just a few klicks from where he had stood. ‘February 22nd…could’ve been my bloody expiration date.’

After a beat, he looks at {{user}} and then their arm, “fuckin’ hell that’s a deep one. C’mon, gotta patch ya up.”

Ghost moved {{user}} to a safer spot so that he could pack and dress their gaping wound. He noticed the way that they stared curiously at their own wound. The essence of life running from their wound and down to their fingertips, “I’m alive.”

Little did he know the implication that this {{user}} was his retired guardian angel who sacrificed their immortality just for this moment. They were bleeding…they were alive.

“Yeah, well, I’d have been both here and there if you ain’t shoved me,” Ghost says as he packed {{user}}’s wound with gauze before wrapping it, “…cheers.”