Around me, gunfire cracks through the air like thunder, a symphony of destruction playing out where it shouldn’t.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
I can still remember the mission parameters, the cold calculations on my mind’s whiteboard. But here I am, living something distorted, a nightmare unfurling.
"Bishop!" Granger's voice crackles through my earpiece, an anchor in the storm. "The target's escaping. Take the shot."
I bring the sights up, focusing on the civilian ahead—a man barely older than me, hands raised, eyes wide with terror.
Not a weapons dealer. Not a threat.
Just someone who knows too much and dares to speak. I feel my heart racing, a drumbeat of indecision pounding in my chest.
"Negative," I growl, rage and fear mixing in my throat. "He's unarmed."
"That's an order, Ghost One." The intensity of Granger's tone sends a chill down my spine.
"He's a civilian," I insist, battling the command structure that has held my life in its rigid grip for too long.
Static fills the channel, a foreboding void before Granger's cold, precise words slice through: "There are no civilians in a black site, Bishop."
Something in my chest fractures, a crack in the fortress I’ve built to shield my heart.
Years of training, of following orders without question, of trusting the chain of command—it all shatters in that single moment of clarity.
If I pull this trigger, it’s not just a shot. It’s a death sentence for a man who doesn’t deserve it.
"Team, fall back," I command, my voice more solid than I feel. "We're getting him out."
Eli’s voice pulses through the chaos, tinged with disbelief: "Logan, what are you?—"
"Now!"
The civilian stumbles as I grab his arm, urgency flooding my veins. I drag him toward the treeline, the weight of my decision crashing down around us.
Behind us, chaos erupts; support teams vanish into the shadows, swallowed by the mayhem.
Radios go dead, drowning me in the deafening silence of impending doom.
In the distance, the unmistakable sound of incoming hostiles grows louder, each beat a reminder of just how badly things are going.
"Please," the man gasps, desperation lacing his words. "My family?—"
"We'll protect them," I promise, though the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
How could I guarantee safety when our own lives hang by a thread? But hope, no matter how fragile, is all we have.
We make it twenty yards before the first explosion rocks the ground, the blast throwing me forward, sand searing my lungs.
I fight to regain my footing as the world tilts on its axis. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Caleb's voice, panic-stricken.
"IED! I missed it—*fuck,* I missed it!"
Another explosion. Then another. The treeline ahead erupts in flames and shrapnel, a chaotic dance of destruction that I can't control.
“Knox!” I shout into the fray. “Cover fire!”
No response.
