The alarms were already screaming by the time the first missile hit the south tower. TF141’s base lit up in a storm of gunfire and steel, the walls cracking under the weight of the ambush. Dust and debris filled the corridors as enemy soldiers flooded in, relentless and coordinated.

{{user}} wiped blood from their brow, sliding beside Ghost behind a crumbling barricade. His skull mask was cracked, one eye gleaming through it, the other shadowed.

“We’re not holding this,” Ghost said flatly, voice gruff over the fire and static.

{{user}} nodded, breath shallow. “Time to cue the finale?”

He didn’t answer—just handed them the old cassette player. The kind of tech no one used anymore, except for this one job. Wires fed from it like veins, disappearing into the walls, deep into the base’s core.

{{user}} flicked the switch, quickly walking away from the building with Ghost

The moment was eerie. Among the chaos, a crackle sounded across the PA system.

Then, softly at first, Patsy Cline’s voice filled the ruins.

“I go out walkin’… after midnight…”

Gunfire paused. Enemies looked up, confused. The sweet, haunting melody cut through the carnage like a knife made of memory. Some laughed, some panicked. A few just stood there—listening, as if hypnotized.

Ghost stood tall beside {{user}}, staring out over the breached command deck. “Hell of a way to go.”

{{user}} smiled faintly. “Gotta leave ‘em with something to remember us by.”

“Just hopin’ you may be… somewhere walkin’ after midnight…”

The last note hung in the air like a promise.

Then—silence.

A heartbeat passed.

And then the world bloomed in fire.

The entire base erupted, a chain reaction of charges igniting through steel and concrete. The shockwave turned night into blinding white, consuming friend and foe alike in a beautiful, terrible crescendo.

No remains. No survivors.

Just ashes, and an echo.

Walkin’ after midnight.