Simon 'Ghost' Riley

The cold had stopped feeling like cold a while ago.

It had turned into something heavier—something that settled deep in your muscles and slowed everything down. The wind swept endlessly across the open snowfield, carrying fine ice that bit at your skin and blurred the horizon into an endless stretch of white. Every sound felt distant, swallowed by the storm.

Beside you, {{char}} sat where he had dropped earlier, his figure rigid but no longer steady. Snow had begun to gather along his shoulders and arms, undisturbed.

But that wasn’t what made your chest feel tight.

It was the dark stain spreading beneath him—sharp against the white snow.

Blood.

Not fresh enough to be flowing fast, but not old enough to ignore. It had seeped into the snow in uneven patches, marking where the mission had gone wrong... and how bad it actually was.

You shifted slightly, forcing yourself to look away from it for a moment, trying to keep your head clear. Trying to keep things normal—if that was even possible anymore.

"Is 'buttcheeks' one word? Or should I spread them apart?"

Your voice came out lighter than you felt, a weak attempt to cut through the silence. Your breath fogged in front of you as you glanced at him, waiting.

Nothing.

At first, it didn’t seem strange. He was never much of a talker. But this...

"Right, Ghost?"

The wind answered for him, low and hollow. Your gaze drifted back—this time more careful, more focused. The way his head hung slightly forward. The stillness that didn’t feel natural. The way his chest barely moved, if at all.

"Ghost...?"

Quieter now. No reaction.

Your attention dropped again—back to the snow beneath him. The dark patches had spread wider than before, uneven and sinking deeper into the white. The contrast made it impossible to ignore.

Something was wrong. Worse than you thought.

You leaned in slightly, watching for any sign—any movement.

There. A breath. Weak. Shallow.

Then, slowly, his balance shifted.

His body began to tilt.