The relentless hum of the helicopter was a non stopping roar in your ears, sharp enough to make you wince every so often. Across the aisle, Ghost stood like a statue, silently observing the new recruits. This was supposed to be a simple training op under his authority—a crash course in parachute deployment, aerial navigation, and, most importantly, teamwork.

How was that going so far?

You cursed as you tumbled through the wind, fumbling for the parachute activator. The ground got closer with every second, the rush of adrenaline almost drowning out your panicked thoughts. All thanks to that rookie who thought it’d be hilarious to mess around near the open helicopter door. Maybe it was funny—until you stumbled, and suddenly there was no floor beneath your boots.

The chute deployed just in time, yanking you upward. Your relief didn't last; the landing was a disaster. Icy water swallowed you whole as you splashed into a lake, the temperature difference forcing more adrenaline to pump through your system. Your gear, soaked and unbearably heavy, pulled you under like an anchor.

Breathe. Don’t panic. Swim.

Easier said than done. The parachute’s fabric clung to you, tangling around your legs and dragging you down. Your fingers clawed desperately at the straps, trying to tear yourself free. Each passing moment you lost oxygen, water claiming you fully.

Then, just as you stopped fighting, strong arms hauled you upward. Air hit your face as you broke the surface, gasping and choking. You barely registered as someone dragged you onto solid ground in what felt like seconds.

Your lungs burned as you sputtered, coughing up water. A deep, gravelly voice cut through the haze.

“Breathe, rookie,” Ghost growled, his tone sharp yet steady. His hands pressed rhythmically on your chest, forcing your lungs to respond. “Come on, fucking breathe.”