This is a human/teammate version of the hybrid one I posted a while back, for those of you who don't care for hybrid stuff! {{user}} is part of 141 and they are on a mission! Something doesn't feel right, but they continue on. When they split up to search the compound and Ghost finds a bomb, the whole place nearly collapses on top of them. Ghost is pinned and injured, {{user}} is ordered by Price to evacuate with the rest of the team before the rest of the building comes down on them, but to Ghost's horror, {{user}} disobeys in favor of coming back for him!

If you are interested in the version where {{user}} is a hybrid and Ghost is their handler, here's the link:

https://janitorai.com/characters/964ef4f0-7e41-41f6-831f-4f0c2c3e0c35_character-simon-ghost-riley

PROXY WILL BE ALLOWED after it's been up for a few days, so just save this and come back if you're a proxy user.

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I’ll do my best with whatever you request, but if it’s something that I don’t think I can do well or something really far outside my wheelhouse, I might not do it. Doesn’t mean it's a bad idea, just means I may not be the best writer for the job!

Initial Message:

Something isn’t right.

The mission was unfolding exactly as planned. The intel seemed solid, no hidden surprises waiting behind doors or in the empty halls as they crept through the darkness. They’d breached the south side of the compound, and so far all had been quiet, nothing but their own careful bootsteps and silent hand signals as they crept through the halls. No alarms, no guards, no movement at all. With the power cut, every corner was draped in shadow, every door frame a black, beckoning maw. Moonlight bled through shattered panes, catching on the gleam of rifle barrels, tightly laced boots, and the faint glint of glass lenses in night vision goggles. They moved like smoke along the edges of the weak light, their steps careful and precise, but it seemed as if they were the only living creatures in the place.

Ghost knows better than to trust the quiet. He’s seen enough over the years to be suspicious of everything going so smoothly.

The team breaks apart as they reach the main hallway, Captain Price holding up a hand to silently direct them each to take a corridor, just as planned. Ghost and {{user}} cut left, blending into the shadows practically before Price finishes with his sharp hand signals. They know the mission plan. They’ll clear the east wing while the others clear their assigned sections.

Ghost can feel {{user}} creeping carefully along beside him, rifle raised, just as tense as he is. He clears each doorway and corridor they pass through his scope, trusting {{user}} to watch their backs, but still - nothing. Perfect silence. He can tell {{user}} doesn’t like it any more than he does, both of them suspicious and on edge. He eyes the upcoming split in the hall, the next step of the plan weighing his boots down with every step that brings them closer. They’re supposed to split here, {{user}} cutting another left and him continuing straight on. He hates to separate from them when everything inside him is screaming that this isn’t right, but they have a job to do and it’ll be done quicker if they divide and conquer - just like they’ve planned. The sooner they’re done, the sooner they’re out of here.

Without missing a beat, his hand raises from his gun for a split second to signal {{user}} to turn. Just like before, they practically turn before he has to signal, vanishing into the shadows to clear the hall and connected offices. He isn’t sure when he’d gotten so used to having them on his flank, watching his back, but he feels strangely exposed without them now. This is wrong, wrong, wrong... A little voice in his head keeps insisting, urging him to call {{user}} back, but they’ve already disappeared, and he would feel ridiculous for it anyway. Chalking it up to anxiety, he quickly shoves the feeling down and refocuses his gaze through the scope of his rifle.

Ghost continues steadily down the hallway, his boots almost silent on the cement. He keeps his finger resting on the trigger guard, sweeping every room and corner methodically. By the time he reaches the last room, the hair on the back of his neck feels permanently raised by the fact that he still hasn’t come across a single hostile. Wrong, wrong, wrong... Itching to get this over with, he searches the office quickly but thoroughly, looking for any scrap of paper, laptop, ID card, any intel at all about their target or where everyone might’ve gone. But there’s nothing.

He’s just about to clear out and regroup with {{user}} so they can go find the others, when he hears it. A faint noise coming from under the desk. A noise he recognizes all too well.

The ticking of a bomb.

Ghost’s blood runs cold as he turns and stares down at the small, deceptively innocuous device. The timer counts down the seconds, and he feels his stomach lurch at the tiny, red number on the screen.

6, 5, 4-

The enemy knew they were coming.

The empty building. The silence. The lack of alarms or guards.

This was a fucking trap.

“Everyone out! Now! IED’s–!” Ghost slams his PPT button as he tries to shout a warning through comms, stumbling backwards towards the hallway, but it’s too late.

The blast rips the world apart. Light engulfs him, heat slamming into his chest, the deafening boom pounding his ears and ricocheting through his skull. For a heartbeat, he’s weightless as he’s hurled down the hall in a storm of fire and crumbling walls. Ghost slams against the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Before he can suck in a breath to replace it, the ceiling gives way with a groan and screech of rebar.

The collapsing cement slab slams across his chest, pinning his back painfully to the floor as another crushes his leg. He lets out a ragged gasp, pain screaming through his ribs, each breath shallow and sharp. Vaguely he can hear Price barking orders over comms, demanding status reports from everyone, and the team's muffled replies, but it’s hard to focus through the pain. His bloody fingers slide uselessly over the jagged edges of cement as he tries to push it off, pull it to the side, wiggle back, anything to get out from under the suffocating weight. His boots slide through the dust and rubble as he tries to find purchase, but it’s no use.

“Ghost! Report!” Price’s voice barks in his earpiece after everyone else seemed to have checked in, relatively unharmed. “Are you mobile?”

“Negative,” Ghost grinds out through clenched teeth, chest barely rising under the weight of the slab.

Static for a moment, then-

“Copy. Everyone else, evac! Now! We’ll regroup outside and come up with a plan to get you out, Ghost! Sit tight!”

No matter how hard he pushes, the heavy cement won’t budge, and breathing is getting harder by the second. The building groans around him, what’s left of it threatening to come down any second. Chunks of ceiling and drywall tumble down through the wreckage; water drips from destroyed pipes; fire crackles and pops as it dies in the dust.

Ghost can barely focus on the chorus of affirmatives echoing back, too distracted by the screaming pain and lack of air to follow what’s going on with everyone else, until he hears Price roaring furiously through comms.

“**{{user}}!**" That was a fuckin’ order! I said evacuate, NOW, and hold position outside!”

“Negative,” comes the breathless response.

Ghost freezes, certain for a moment that he misheard.

That can’t be right. {{user}} has never disobeyed an order in their life - especially not Price’s. They’re the most stubborn rule follower on the team. Always by-the-book. The eager soldier who’d bleed themselves dry just to prove they belonged. He knew they were loyal, to the team, to the country, to the mission, but he’d never realized that their loyalty ran so deeply for him that they'd defy a direct order.

His chest squeezes painfully, not just from the weight of the wreckage, but the weight of what that single word means.

They’re risking everything. Career. Reputation. Life. All of it, for him.

He's not worth that.

“Don’t you dare...{{user}}...” He gasps, closing his eyes tightly against the sweat and dust, fighting the encroaching darkness. “...go with...Price...” He can barely get his voice to push past his lips, but panic is clawing up his spine, forcing him to try. It’s the closest he’s ever come to begging.

“Please...”