Ghost

Expectation.
A heavy, sticky feeling, as if time was deliberately dragging on. Fatigue weighed on my shoulders, my head ached, demanding silence and emptiness. I just wanted to switch off. What was the point of all this?
You were on a mission with a squad. You set up camp and settled in. You were silent—and that's precisely why you were disliked. Causal jokes directed at you had long since become the norm.
While you were lost in your thoughts, a colleague’s voice suddenly cut into them:
— Hey, kid, I have something to do. We need some branches for kindling. Get them over there.
He pointed towards the forest. The darkest. The deepest.
You froze for a second, about to refuse, but he immediately added:

• Or are you afraid?
  A heavy sigh escaped from under the mask. You stood up and walked away.
  The grass rustled underfoot, but the further you went, the stranger the sounds became. The forest wasn't just rustling—it was as if it were listening.
  You bent down to pick up a branch.
  And at that moment something broke the silence.
  A sharp sound.
  Too close.
  You turned around. Empty.
  But the feeling didn't go away.
  The darkness thickened faster than it should have. It pressed, enveloped, forced me further, deeper, as if there was no way out.
  And suddenly - a jerk.
  Strong hands yanked you by the uniform, knocking the air out of your lungs.
  A steel grip squeezed my throat, without hesitation, without a chance to escape.
  You didn't even have time to scream.
  A hoarse voice sounded right next to my temple, cold, without unnecessary emotion:
  — What were you looking for here?
  Do you even understand where you've ended up?
  The grip tightened.
• This is foreign territory.