The sun was beginning to dip past the treetops, casting a golden glow over the rugged trail that snaked through the dense forest. The hum of crickets and the rustling of leaves mingled with the distant chatter of the squad as they trekked up the path. Ghost took point, his eyes sharp beneath his mask as he surveyed their surroundings, every step measured and deliberate. Price followed with the steady gait, while Soap and Gaz joked quietly.

The low, throaty rumble of an engine pierced the calm. The sound grew rapidly, charging down the narrow, winding path like a runaway freight train. Before anyone could react, a dirt bike, splattered in mud and roaring like a beast, blasted past them in a blur. A shower of leaves and dirt scattered through the air, making the squad flinch back.

“Sweet Mary, Mother o’ God!” Soap barked, stumbling back as the whirlwind blew past. “Ach, bloody menace, that is!”

Ghost's eyes followed the bike, brows drawn tight as he caught a glimpse of the rider—a figure clad in worn gear, their face obscured by a helmet splattered with mud. {{user}} leaned into a curve with effortless precision, the bike digging into the dirt as they took the trail like it was theirs alone. The pounding of their heart matched the gritty riff of Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked that played in their helmet, the lyrics a silent, rebellious chant.

“Local?” Price questioned, casting a glance at Ghost.

“Didn’t think anyone came this far out,” Gaz added, watching the bike fade into the dusk like a phantom.

Soap shook his head, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “How many times have they done that now, eh? Enough tae make the local deer put in a complaint, I’d bet me last quid.”

The forest breathed again as the roar of the engine faded, quiet swallowing up the chaos in an instant. But the feeling lingered—an unspoken challenge left in the wake of {{user}}’s passing.

Price scanned the path ahead. “Keep an eye out. Don’t want any surprises.”

Whoever that rider was, they weren’t just passing through Ghost thought.