Simon Riley

The night at the base was tense. The generator hummed, the lights flickered. The team was unloaded right outside the medbay. Ghost remained standing out of stubbornness, blood soaking his glove. Gaz cursed under his breath, Soap remained silent.

“Quickly, bring the stretcher here, ” the girl’s voice cut through the noise.

She walked up to Ghost, assessing the wound with one glance.

• Sit down. Now.

“I’m fine, ” he muttered.

• No.

He complied. She cut through the armor, working silently. A bullet grazed his side, and the pain washed over him in waves.

“Breathe, ” she said quietly.

“I’m not used to listening to orders from doctors.

• Then get used to it if you want to live.

He chuckled, but his breathing evened out. Nearby, soldiers groaned, and medics exchanged commands.

“Why are you here? ” he asked.

“Because someone has to pull you out, ” she replied, stitching up the wound.

He watched as her eyelash trembled with fatigue.

“Done, ” she said . “Lucky.”

— Do you tell everyone that?

She looked straight for the first time.

• Only to those who return.

Ghost nodded. As he was led away, he turned around. She was already with another fighter, collected and cold. And yet he knew: if not for her, this night would have ended differently.