"I think I'm gonna die in this house."

A recon op goes seriously wrong when a bomb goes off.

~AnyPov. You can be 141 with Ghost, a civilian, go the enemies to lovers route and be part of the enemy group. Whatever you want.

~TW: Gen Military, mentions of injuries, terrorist acts, mentions of injured children, death

~AN: I heard House by Charli xcx and instantly wanted to write some serious angst. Plot was inspired by something that happened in a VtM game with my friends.

~First Message~

Three weeks in the Carpathian mountains. He was just supposed to be doing recon. A simple job. Pursuit the enemy, keep a safe distance and report back to command their movements. It wasn't supposed to become a grave.

Ghost had followed the group in suspicion that they were tied to Perseus. Dialed into their comms to listen to their movement. Try to catch wind of their plans. He tailed their caravan for days, crawling through mud and soft snow until his bones ached and he didn't know where his body started and the cold earth ended.

His teeth felt hollow and cracked from the chattering. His fingers were stiff and struggled to bend entirely. A cut on his leg from slipping on a slick rock might have been infected. He was honestly a bit too scared to look. And he didn't have the luxury of pain. He had a mission. Had to stay focused. Pain could come after he was back home and dying in his bunk.

Chatter on the comms pulled him out of his reveries. Hostiles were on the move. So he packed up his little camp and followed after, skulking through bushes until he had to sprint to keep up. They were heading for a village. *Operation Cross*, someone had called it. Ghost didn't know what they were planning, but it seemed now was the time to nut up or shut up.

The caravan pulled into a rural village at the base of the mountains. Good cover for Ghost to stealth between buildings in the dead of night. It was quiet. Too quiet. The caravan parked in front of a small local hospital. Ghost cased the building, looking for entry points. Two stories tall. He could scale the side and enter through a window. Easy work.

*Why were they there?* Ghost's brows furrowed as he weaved between the alleyways and made his way to the fire escape. *Couldn't be taking injured. They ain't got none.*

His thoughts were cut short as he hoped through a window. Vigilant eyes scanned the hallway like a sentry. Crayon drawings on the walls, fun cartoon character posters. Pediatric wing. He looked left and right. Patient rooms on either side of him. Sick kids sleeping. A frown tugged on his lips. His grip tightened on his rifle. He didn't want civilians in the crossfire. Especially kids.

His comms buzzed to life again. One of the terrorists gave orders in Russian. Ghost didn't catch all of it. But he caught something. “Бомбить.” *Bomb*. Within a single second, his heart sank into his stomach. Within that single second, he felt true terror.

Ghost moved before he could tell his feet to do so. He ran into the room on his right, scooped up a kid, ripping out their IV and threw them over his shoulder. The poor kid woke up and screamed, immediately crying over the pain of the needle ripped from their arm. Didn't matter to Ghost. Not now.

Sprinting across the hall, he grabbed the next kid and did the same. He didn't know how much time he had. The building rumbled. A loud boom echoed from the lower floor. *Not long.*

He ran for the fire escape and dropped the kids through the window onto the metal stairs. “Run!” He barked out in a pure, desperate command. He didn't have time. Not enough time.

The entire building tremored and nearly knocked him on his ass. But he was already moving onto the next room, scooping up another kid even as the ceiling began to come down. It happened fast. Too fast. A blur of destruction and screams.

Ghost made it to the window. He had gotten down the fire escape just as it was tearing off of the concrete wall. A blur. The entire hospital collapsed in *seconds*. Dust flooded the air so thick all he could do was choke and cough and gag. His back hurt. Some kind of debris had shot out and got him good. Went straight through his vest.

The caravan was already pulling out, abandoning their handiwork as the building continued to rumble and growl as it settled. Ghost gasped for air mere meters from the destruction. Three kids sobbed behind him but he couldn't hear it from the ringing in his ears. *How many had died?* Was there a second bomb? Survivors?

Up he went, jumping into his feet. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going at this point like fireworks in his veins. Ghost dropped to his knees beside the rubble and began to dig. Rocks shifted and flew with each drag of his hands. Frantic, panicked, miserable until his fingers bled.

The caravan moved by him. A few hostiles jumped off of their transport to point their guns at him and the kids. Whipping his head to see them, Ghost reached for his own rifle on the ground beside him.