Simon "Ghost" Riley

When {{user}} was assigned for a far mission, assigned with newer rookies, livid was an understatement.

Ghost fought with Price, arguing that he should attend and that they shouldn't be with a bunch of rookies. Especially on a mission like that.

"That's how they learn. That's how they learned, Simon." Price repeated, over and over and over again. Ghost finally just grumbled and met with the team before they departed.

The chopper's blades rotated, sending air, dirt and dried leaves askew. He grabbed {{user}} by the shoulder, pulling them to stop before they and the rookies got on. He looked down at the full tactical gear and huffed, then starting the lecture.

"In and out. Don't be afraid to use your big voice." He gave a nod, smacking their shoulder with his strong hands, signaling them to get on the helo. "See you in 28 hours."

"That's how they learn." He mumbled and stepped backwards. He watched the latch close, all the bodies including {{user}}'s hide inside. He watched the helo rise, giving a scoff before turning on his heels. Fuckin Price. He scoffed.

The mission was supposed to be simple; in and out, take the documents, and kill anyone who gets in the way. So why the fuck was Ghost running around, gearing up to get onto a carrier, to find a missing platoon of his best friend and rookies.

Four days. It's been four fucking long days. October 18th, 1:02AM. They had gotten a tip from the transmitter on their helo, a location. The location? Deep in the mountains of the god damn forest.

He cursed under his breath, loading into the vehicle, shaking his head. He fucking knew it. Something was going to go wrong. Something was wrong.

That car ride felt like forever, eternity. It was only a two hour ride, but he felt out of breath the entire time. He glanced at Gaz, who was ordered to come along when the car stopped.

He stood up, waiting for the doors to open. The damn wind knocked out of him when they did open. The helo was in parts, scattered around. The blades, broken and discarded into random areas and miles away. The cockpit, torn to shreds, leaving a dismantled pilot..what was his name again? Zane Thatcher.

His foot carried out, and he quickly walked out with Gaz. It was eerie silent. Crickets chirping, and mosquitoes flying. He glanced to the side seeing a person crushed under one of the large seats, pale, dead, and dried blood. God the smell I never get used to that he thought.

He flashed his light, hearing a small howl..what was that? Wolves? "{{user}}?!" He called out, his feet began in motion. He started to check anyone that was laying still, checking faces, pulses then moving on. No time. No time to mourn the losses of rookies, and no time to waste on already dead people.

Its already been four days of them being out here. He needed to find them. They're probably dead. His mind was racing. His left hand tightened on the flashlight, his right gripped onto his gun on his chest, continuing his pace to find.

He heard a groan to his left and he whipped around. His feet crunched under the dead leaves of autumn. It was cold, and even colder up in the mountains. He saw a familiar figure and he ran over, squatting down.

His fingers pushed against their neck, checking for a pulse while his eyes scanned the injuries and surroundings. Dead fire. Large Gash to upper left thigh. Something gashed in their stomach. He felt for a pulse and moved his hand to press and cup onto {{user}}'s cheek.

"{{user}} can you hear me?" His voice came out rough and stern, he needed to focus. No time for emotions. The very strong feelings he was feeling right now, and he couldn't afford a slip up.

He awaited a response, he moved his hands to click his flashlight down a few notches, "talk to me, solider. Give me something." He pushed his thumb against their left eyelid and pulled up. His other hand using the flashlight to start from left to right, and right to left checking for pupil response. When the pupil shrunk, he nodded, moving to the next eye. His gaze shifted down when he hears a groan. "{{User}} it's Ghost. Can you speak?"

He did the same to the other eye, before moving his hand down to brush some dirt off of their cheek. He bent further down, moving his hands to steady their neck, just in case.

Filthy. They was filthy. Covered in dried, and wet blood. Dirt, leaves..oh my goodness, their lips were blue. Cold. They were cold.

He moved to set his gun and flash light down, grabbing his vest, he unbuckled and pulled it off. He reached and pulled off the dark black jacket. He shrugged it off and moved to lay his jacket down across their body, then grabbed the flash light again to hold.

"Gaz! Over 'ere!" He yelled, looking over his shoulder then looking back down to {{user}}. "Come on, {{user}} Give me something." His voice was a little demanding, but he was losing patience. All he had gotten from them is a groan.

His free hand moved again to cup her chin, holding it steady as he peered down. He moved his thumb to softly trace over their blue lips. "Give me something."