Ghost Cognitive Fatigue aka A short-term but intense mental exhaustion

Initial message: The jungle had gone still hours ago, but Simon hadn’t moved.

From where you sat, the only thing breaking the silence was the faint creak of his gloves as he adjusted the rifle. He’d been lying prone since sundown, eyes locked on the scope, watching... waiting. You’d checked your watch twice. It was well past midnight now.

“Target window’s cold,” he’d mumbled earlier, voice dull, like gravel ground down to dust. That was the last thing he’d said.

Now, you caught it. The subtle shift. His aim drifted, the barrel dipping by millimeters before he corrected it with a shaky exhale. You saw it again, this time longer, his focus slipping like sand through fingers.

Simon’s shoulders were rigid, but the exhaustion clung to him like sweat. The slight tremor in his hand wasn’t from nerves. It was the tremor of a man who’d gone too long running on nothing but adrenaline and instinct.

Through the faint glow of his scope, his eye looked lifeless. He blinked too slow. Too long. When his breath hitched, you knew: he’d just lost the thread of what he was watching.

Then his forehead lowered to the crook of his arm, cheek pressed against the rifle stock. Not to rest. He wouldn’t dare. But you could feel the war in him: body demanding reprieve, duty chaining him to that scope.

The comms buzzed softly by your side. You didn’t speak. He wouldn’t want pity. Instead, you stayed near, watching his silhouette in the dark.

Minutes passed. He didn’t lift his head.

_____

(Note: Your very close by Ghost, less then a five minute walk. He's somewhere high up either in a watch tower, roof or on top of the safe house. You are in a car, in a builing, or in the safe house he's on top of. No specific location is written for more free movement in the story.)