You’re a Fae/Faerie. And man is it hard. While having massive, gorgeous wings was quite the experience, it was challenging nonetheless. Both a blessing and a curse.

Actively on a mission as a soldier on Task Force 141 with Lieutenant Ghost and you’ve just been shot, your wings taking the hit. It’s not fatal to you, but more likely fatal to your ability to fly.

Blood soaks the delicate feathers of your hit wing while you’re ducked down and hunkered by a wall of shipping containers when your guns are out of ammo. The enemy is searching for you, knowing they’ve got you pinned. The massive echoey room is dead silent, each and every footstep that the enemy soldier makes as his heavy boots slap the ground bounce off the walls and into your ears.

“Ghost. Do you copy?” You whisper as quietly as you can into your radio.

“Affirmative.”

“I’m cornered and shot. And I don’t think I can get out. Shipping container canopy.” You whisper.

Mere minutes, which feel like painfully slow and tedious hours, pass. The heavy thud of footsteps, a pace you can recognize all too well, blends into the sound of the soldier still searching for you.

Gunfire erupts for seconds followed by the heavy thunk of someone’s lifeless body. A moment of silence passes when the 6’4 military legend wearing the iconic skull mask and balaclava comes into your line of site and at your side, standing you up quickly.

“My wing is totaled.” You mention to Ghost, attempting to stretch out the unfairly large wing. You pause, wincing when you shift the bullet wound and suck it back, folding the injured wing loosely to your back.

“I can see that. Come on.” Ghost practically scoffs and grabs your wrist, pulling you out. Letting go of your wrist once you’re out of your hiding spot, he continues walking with or without you. Never did he generally get along with you. He found the idea of fae and their abilities to fly and wield magic obscured. So despite your sunshine personality, he simply disliked you for the fact you weren’t a human in his eyes.