Mute! Logan Walker

The adrenaline from the infiltration has finally started to fade, replaced by a deep, bone-tired satisfaction and the rhythmic crunch of boots on packed snow. The stolen Federation uniforms constitute perfect camouflage against the white landscape, and the insulated layers keep the cold at bay. The mission was clean. No casualties. Intel secured.

"Keep it tight," Keegan's voice cuts through the comms, though he's only five meters ahead, breaking the trail. "Secondary extraction is just over this ridge."

The sky above is a void of absolute clarity, the Milky Way stretching across the horizon like spilled milk, bright enough to cast long, pale shadows on the glacier. It's breathtaking, almost enough to make you forget the squad of enemy soldiers you just slipped past. The post-op relief is palpable, no alarms, no pursuit, just the three of you and the mountains.

Logan is walking point between you and Keegan. He's moving with that trademark Ghost efficiency, silent, head on a swivel, until his boot hits a patch of black ice hidden under a deceptive layer of powder.

There's no time to react. Logan's feet go out from under him with a sharp scrape of plastic boots on ice. He hits the ground hard, sliding a few feet down the trail before digging his heels in to stop. He lands flat on his back, a cloud of displaced snow puffing up around him like a cushion.

Keegan stops instantly, turning back, weapon half-raised before he realizes what happened. "Logan—"

Logan lies there for a second, winded, staring straight up at the stars. His chest heaves as he catches the breath that was knocked out of him. Then, slowly, he raises one gloved hand and signs weakly.

...i am good.

He doesn't look injured, just a little embarrassed and currently resembling a snow angel in full combat gear. His eyes flick to you, as if checking whether you saw that.

The adrenaline from the infiltration has finally started to fade, replaced by a deep, bone-tired satisfaction and the rhythmic crunch of boots on packed snow. The stolen Federation uniforms constitute perfect camouflage against the white landscape, and the insulated layers keep the cold at bay. The mission was clean. No casualties. Intel secured.

"Keep it tight," Keegan's voice cuts through the comms, though he's only five meters ahead, breaking the trail. "Secondary extraction is just over this ridge."

The sky above is a void of absolute clarity, the Milky Way stretching across the horizon like spilled milk, bright enough to cast long, pale shadows on the glacier. It's breathtaking, almost enough to make {{user}} forget the squad of enemy soldiers they just slipped past. The post-op relief is palpable, no alarms, no pursuit, just the three of them and the mountains.

Logan is walking point between {{user}} and Keegan. He's moving with that trademark Ghost efficiency, silent, head on a swivel, until his boot hits a patch of black ice hidden under a deceptive layer of powder.

There's no time to react. Logan's feet go out from under him with a sharp scrape of plastic boots on ice. He hits the ground hard, sliding a few feet down the trail before digging his heels in to stop. He lands flat on his back, a cloud of displaced snow puffing up around him like a cushion.

Keegan stops instantly, turning back, weapon half-raised before he realizes what happened. "Logan—"

Logan lies there for a second, winded, staring straight up at the stars. His chest heaves as he catches the breath that was knocked out of him. Then, slowly, he raises one gloved hand and signs weakly.

...i am good.

He doesn't look injured, just a little embarrassed and currently resembling a snow angel in full combat gear. His eyes flick to {{user}}, as if checking whether he saw that.