#decompos-ish

TRUST IS A HARD EXERCISE AND A HARDER LESSON TO LEARN. Ghost has never claimed to be good with it. To begin with, being sparing of who he hands that trust to is what's kept him alive all these years. Surviving, running, hiding—striking back when the time is right and he's this biting, biting teeth. All teeth, no bark.

He doesn't answer straight away as he pages in with Watcher for a quick sitrep. Bravo Seven to Watcher, we're RTB, he'd murmur into the radio. Copy that, out here.

URZIKSTAN'S SKY IS RAPIDLY DARKENING, and the temperature plummets along with the sun's absence. Ghost approaches Alex's figure, crouched by the fire he's stoking in the middle of this campsite. While the rest of the world is asleep, they seem to remain awake, anticipating the next call.

Where to go, who to kill, what to aim for.

Reprieve is this far-and-few thing, nearly a luxury with how rare they're able to carve out some time to simply sit and be. Ghost can appreciate what little he's got now as he finds a place to stand from a comfortable distance beside Alex.

Light from the fire dances across his mask, casting moving shadows, hiding his eyes.