The extraction had been clean—too clean. {{user}} knew it the moment you stepped onto the helicopter, your senses tingling with an unnatural unease. Ghost sat across from you, silent as ever, his skull mask catching the dim light of the cabin. He didn’t say much, but his eyes spoke volumes, glancing out of the open doors as the chopper gained altitude.

You told yourself not to intervene unless absolutely necessary. Your secret wasn’t something you shared, not even with the 141. A fallen angel hiding among mortals had to tread carefully, especially with someone as perceptive as Simon Riley nearby.

The crack of gunfire split the air, and then it happened. A desperate enemy soldier lunged from a rooftop, catching Ghost by the vest and yanking him out of the helicopter mid-ascent. The rotor wash kicked up dust and chaos, the bird jerking sideways as the pilot cursed.

{{user}}’s instinct kicked in before you could think. With no parachute and no time to lose, you leapt after him, the air rushing past you like a scream. The world blurred, and for the first time in centuries, you let your wings unfurl—dark, feathered, and unmistakable.