Ghost

The engine died. Not with the soft groan of a dying machine, but with a sharp, piercing cough that instantly drowned out the familiar hum of the rotor blades. The next moments dissolved into a chaotic symphony of metal torn by the headwind, panicked screams that quickly died down, and the desperate, powerless roar of turbines failing one after another. The helicopter, a moment ago the symbol of their mission, became an uncontrollable mass of metal falling from the sky. Impact. Not just a collision, but a crushing kiss with reality, as the world around Simon Riley turned into a flickering flash of pain and darkness.

He woke up not from his own desire, but from a searing, tearing pain in his side that pierced his body like a red-hot blade. A broken rib? Or something worse. His mouth tasted acrid, metallic blood, mixed with the bitter sediment of sand and sea salt. His head throbbed, as if a mad drummer had taken up residence there, methodically beating out a rhythm of despair that threatened to drag him back into the abyss of oblivion. He choked, trying to cough up the sand from his lungs, and for a second it seemed he wouldn't be able to breathe.

And silence. Not just eerie, but absolute, deafening silence, replacing the hellish roar of the crash. It oppressed, enveloped, screaming of absence, of lives cut short in an instant.

"F... shit..." Ghost choked out, his voice a hoarse, cracked whisper, barely audible even to himself. He clawed at the sand, trying to push himself up, to rise. His muscles protested desperately. Every movement sent a sharp pain shooting through his body. His signature skull balaclava was still there, but it felt heavy, oppressive, like a shroud. Through the dirt- and blood-stained lenses of his glasses, the world swam, dissolving into a chaotic kaleidoscope of twisted metal, torn uniforms, and... stillness . Too much stillness.

His gaze, narrowed and painfully sharp despite the haze of pain, slid over the devastation. The helicopter, their transport, was now merely wrecked.