The landscape has stretched endlessly before you and the team, gnarled trees against a bleak and gray horizon. Ghost kept his eyes ahead, steps deliberate, thoughts anything but steady.

You had been walking for days. Hours at a time. Miles at a time. The team had gotten lost on a mission and all of your communication was cut, it started to feel more and more hopeless, maddening. Time had blurred into the rhythm of their boots striking the ground, a dull and ceaseless percussion.

Rations were running low, men and women alike were going crazy with fear and desperation; crying out to whoever listened at night. It tore at Ghost’s insides, made him feel sick as he stayed awake.

It was the monotony that started to fray his edges. Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t think. But the thoughts came just as relentless as the march.

He stole a glance at you, noticing the exhaustion. No one had spoken much, the weight of the threat you all were in pressed down. The team was slightly ahead, blurred figures in the distance and for a moment Simon thought they weren’t real; that they had been apart of his imagination.

His gaze dropped back to the ground, the smell of damp earth and sweat seemed to rise in waves with his anxiety. You noticed that he kept shaking his head every so often as he tried to rid himself of the feeling of doom crawling under his skin. Seven. Six. Eleven. Five.

This is it, Ghost was sure this was it. Walking, waiting, surviving. He clenched his jaw, the strain in his chest growing with every move of his boots. He noticed your gaze and his eyes went to yours again, his hands tightening.

“Keep moving,” he muttered, his voice hollow and hoarse.