Like Real People Do

Call of Duty

Baker!reader short fic (Price x Reader) - the silliest little fic, just got the idea from a TikTok, Bon Appetite x

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The Patron Saint of One Way Trips - this is a poly!141 Slowest of slow burn. It'll eventually feature most characters and situations. Eventual fluff/romance/smut/death etc etc. Oh - and it's an a/b/o AU too but will follow roughly along with the COD timeline.

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Starcourt Mall smells like popcorn, pretzels, and artificial sweets —like someone tried to bottle summer and sell it for minimum wage.

I stand behind the cinema counter, counting bills for the third time even though I already know they’re right. It’s busy today. First weekend of July. Families, teenagers, couples pretending not to fight. I like it like this. Loud enough that I don’t have to think.

Robin Buckley leans against the counter, stealing a handful of candy from the display.

“You know that’s inventory,” I say without looking up.

She grins. “You know I don’t respect authority.”

Robin works at Scoops Ahoy across the mall, but she spends her breaks here. Says the air-conditioning is better. I think she just likes the company.

“You look tired,” I tell her.

She groans. “I have been forced into a hideous sailor uniform against my will. And Steve Harrington will not stop flirting with middle-aged women.”

I glance up despite myself. “Steve Harrington?”

Robin squints at me. “Oh my god. You really don’t know him?”

Before I can ask, the bell over the theater doors rings.

And there he is.

Steve Harrington looks exactly like someone who knows he’s being looked at. Sunglasses over his eyes, Scoops Ahoy uniform somehow worn wrong in a way that still works, hair poking out from all angles underneath the cute little hat, leaning in like the mall personally invited him.

“Robin,” he says. “There you are.”

His eyes flick to me—just a second too long to be polite—and I feel it, that uncomfortable awareness of being seen. I straighten instinctively.

“And you must be…?” he asks.

I hesitate. I don’t usually make small talk with strangers. Not like this.

“Y/n,” I say finally.

“Y/n,” he repeats, smiling like it’s something he plans to remember.

Robin watches us like she’s at a tennis match.

Steve gestures vaguely toward the posters behind me. “So. Movies. You guys show those here?”

I blink, surprised by his stupid question. Robin snorts, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Uhm, yeah,” I say. “Can I help you with something?”

He grins wider. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

I don’t trust him. Not really. But there’s something easy about him, something not sharp. Loud, maybe. Annoying. But not cruel.

Before he can say anything else, a group of kids barrels past the counter, arguing loudly about which movie is better. I smile despite myself, crouching to their level.

“Hey,” I say. “We have a special, yummy new candy. It’s free if you get more than three tickets to any movie today!”

They rejoice instantly, booking seven tickets and gathering buckets filled with candy before stomping off to watch their chosen movie, leaving a trail of candy and popcorn in their wake.

When I finish ringing through the kids tickets, Steve is watching me with a fond smile.

Robin clears her throat. “Anyway. I should go before Keith starts accusing me of stealing spoons again.”

She leaves with a salute, abandoning me.

Steve stays.

“So,” he says. “You like kids.”

I shrug. “They’re honest and sweet. Mostly.”

“Huh,” he says, like that means something important.

There’s an awkward beat.

Then he checks his watch. “I should get back. Scoops Ahoy doesn’t run itself.”

“Tragic,” I joke glumly.

He laughs—real laughter, surprised—and points at me. “I’ll see you around, y/n.”

And, I believe him.

Later, during my break, I sit on the floor behind the counter, eating popcorn and listening to the mall hum. I hear laughter faintly outside and the machines from the arcade further through the mall. Summer feels like it’s pressing in on Hawkins from all sides.

My shift ends late and I head home to find my Uncle reading some science book about wormholes. “Hey kid, how was work?” he asks.

“Ugh, it was fine, real busy but at least we didn’t have to clean up puke again..” I joke to him. “Here, I smuggled more of that candy you’re obsessed with.” I tell him, passing a large bucket of sweets to him.

*Simon’s POV*

Johnny and Kyle had been gone for over an hour.

At first, John and I sat in silence — the kind of silence that tastes like you’ve done something terribly wrong. The kind that clings to your ribs, making every breath tight.

John rubs a hand over his jaw.

“You shouldn’t have snapped at her,” he mutters.

I grit my teeth. “She was about to hurt herself. You saw how she winced.”

“You still shouldn’t have said it like that.”

I know he’s right.

I know he’s right.

My Omega — our Omega — had looked at me like I’d slapped her across the face. Like she expected cruelty from me. Like it was familiar.

Like she didn’t expect softness from an Alpha.

John stands, restless. “They’ve been gone too long.”

I smell it a second before he does.

Her scent.

Thick. Sweet. Warming. Like honey blooming through the hallways. Not distressed — not quite — but charged. Richer than it’s ever been, stronger than anything that should be leaking from an Omega whose heat hasn’t hit yet.

My pulse jumps.

John’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s—”

“I know.”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

She’s changing. Peaking. Something’s triggering her cycle early.

And she’s in a nest with two Alphas who are barely holding themselves together on the best of days.

John curses under his breath. “We wait any longer, she’s going to overwhelm them. Or herself.”

I don’t bother responding — I’m already moving down the hallway.

*Laika’s POV*

I wake slowly — warm, safe, stuffed between the bodies of two Alphas.

Johnny is still curled around my back, arm draped protectively over my waist. Kyle lies in front of me, his forehead touching mine, breath warm against my nose. His thumb strokes lazily along my cheek, even in sleep.

I yawn and shift, stretching a little —

And everything changes.

Heat ripples under my skin. Not painful — but deep, molten, buzzing low in my belly. My pulse stutters. My scent blooms without my permission, thick and syrupy, rolling out in waves.

Johnny wakes with a sharp inhale rocking his hips against me from behind.

Then Kyle.

Kyle’s pupils go almost black instantly.

“Bug…” he whispers, voice tight. “You smell… different.”

“I—I don’t know why,” I breathe, but my thighs press together instinctively as another hot wave rolls through me.

Johnny noses into my neck. Not gently — hungry.

“Oh lass,” he mutters, voice almost a groan, “that’s your scent. Your real scent.” He grumbles, lapping at my throat.

Kyle’s hand grips my hip, slow but possessive.

“You’re peaking. Early. That’s— that’s your heat coming in.”

Heat.

My chest squeezes.

“I-is that bad? I don’t—”

Kyle presses his forehead to mine, breathing shakily.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Just means we need to be careful. And stay close.”

Johnny hums in agreement, teeth brushing the skin of my shoulder in a way that makes heat bloom behind my ribs.

But then—

Heavy footsteps outside the door.

My entire body tenses.

Kyle freezes.

Johnny growls softly in warning.

The door opens.

*John’s POV*

The scent hits us like a goddamn wall.

Sweet, thick, new.

Her true scent — not hidden by patches, not muddied by fear, not diluted by injury.

My knees nearly buckle.

Simon’s jaw flexes hard enough I swear I hear something crack.

The bedroom door is closed, but her scent pours through the gap beneath it, drugging the air.

“She—” I start.

But Simon is already pushing the door open.

Johnny and Kyle snap their heads up, eyes sharp, bodies coiled protectively around her in the nest.

Laika blinks up at us, pupils wide, cheeks flushed, breathing shallow. Confusion mixes with embarrassment and something else—something instinctive and warm.

I swallow hard.

“Sweetheart,” I say softly, “your scent is… strong.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers immediately, hiding her face in Kyle’s chest.

Simon steps forward before I can speak.

“Don’t apologise for something that’s natural,” he says, voice low, deep, strangely gentle.

Johnny nuzzles her jaw as if to reassure her.

Kyle holds her a little tighter.

But the air in the room is thick. Heavy with restraint.

If any one of us pushed even an inch too far—

Simon finally tears his eyes away from her and looks at me.

“She’s entering her heat.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she mumbles, voice trembling. “I don’t know what’s happening. I just— I smell weird and everything feels—”

“Aye, we know,” Johnny soothes, kissing her temple.

Kyle clears his throat. “We can manage it. Just need a plan.”

A plan.

My Omega is trembling and sweet and radiating heat in the middle of a nest, and Garrick thinks we need a strategic outline.

Simon growls under his breath — not at her — at the situation. His fists clench once, twice, struggling to hold the Alpha instinct in place.

“Laika,” I say softly, kneeling beside the nest so I’m eye level with her, “you tell us what feels safe. What you need. We follow your lead. No one touches you without your permission. Understand?”

Her eyes flick up, wide and shining.

“You… still want me? Even like this?”

The question guts me.

“Love,” I breathe, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “we’ve always wanted you.”

Simon’s voice rumbles behind me, darker but controlled.

“You’re ours long before any heat decides to show up.”

Her breath catches.

My heart does too.

*Simon’s POV*

She smells like she belongs to us.

Not claimed — not yet — but the scent of a forming bond is unmistakable. Sweet and sharp and ripe. The kind of smell that makes an Alpha’s vision blur around the edges.

But she’s hurt. Healing. And terrified of being a burden.

So I kneel.

Her eyes widen — she wasn’t expecting that.

“Omega,” I say quietly, “look at me.”

She does.

“This doesn’t change anything. Except that we need to manage it. Make sure you’re safe. Make sure you’re not overwhelmed.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“Simon… I thought you were angry at me.”

I exhale slowly.

“I wasn’t angry. I was scared.”

“S-scared?”

“That you’d break. That we’d break you.” I look away, jaw clenching. “That’s on me. Not you.”

She reaches out with her good arm, timidly brushing her fingers against mine.

My pulse spikes.

She doesn’t pull away.

“Do you want us here,” I ask, voice low, “or do you want space while this—” I gesture gently to her scent, her flushed cheeks, “—comes in?”

Her eyes soften.

“I don’t want space,” she whispers. “I want… I want my pack.”

The room goes silent.

Then Johnny lets out a shaky breath.

Kyle rakes a hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose his mind.

John mutters a curse under his breath that sounds mostly like a prayer.

And I—

I feel every wall I’ve built for years crack straight down the center.

*Laika’s POV*

They all look at me like I’m something precious.

My chest aches.

“My shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore,” I whisper. “And I’m not scared. Not with you. I just… everything feels hot. And loud. And I don’t know what to do.”

Kyle cups my cheek.

“That’s normal, love.”

Johnny kisses the back of my hand.

“We’ll get you through it.”

John strokes his thumb over the blanket near my knee, careful not to touch more than I allow.

“You decide how close we get.”

Simon’s gaze drags over me — controlled, reverent, hungry — but when he speaks, it’s soft.

“If you want us to stay, we’ll stay. If you want us touching you, we touch. If you need space, we take space. You say the word.”

My throat tightens.

“I… I want you closer.”

The effect is immediate.

Four Alphas inhale in unison.

Their scents deepen, warm, folded into mine.

Kyle slides into the nest fully.

Johnny shifts closer behind me.

John settles near my legs, giving gentle, grounding warmth.

And Simon —

Simon lowers himself to sit at my side, close enough that our arms brush.

My body shivers with the contact.

But it’s not fear.

It’s something deeper. Older. Instinct pulling at the base of my spine.

I swallow hard.

“My Alphas.”

The growl that rolls through the room makes every hair on my body stand up.

Simon leans in just enough that his breath ghosts over my ear.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “But soon. When you’re ready.”

Heat flares through me —

Hotter.

Stronger.

I gasp softly, gripping the nest blankets.

Kyle’s eyes darken again.

“John,” he says lowly, “it’s starting.”

John nods. “We’ll manage it. Together.”

Simon’s hand hovers near my thigh — not touching — but close enough to feel like lightning.

“Tell us what you need, Omega.”

My breathing stutters.

I’m not sure. Not exactly.

But I know one thing.

“I… I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” John promises immediately.

“You’ll never be alone again,” Kyle adds.

Johnny noses into my hair, humming gently.

“Not a chance, lass.”

Simon’s voice drops to a growl so soft it vibrates through me.

“We’re right here. All of us.”

*Laika’s POV*

The nest feels smaller than it did an hour ago.

maybe it’s just the way the Alphas fill it — bodies warm, scents thick, every breath brushing my skin like sparks.

My pulse thumps loud in my ears.

The heat under my skin keeps rising in steady, rolling waves, curling low in my belly.

I pull the blankets closer, needing them even though I’m already warm.

Simon notices immediately.

“Omega,” he murmurs, “you’re shaking.”

“I-I’m fine,” I lie, though my voice betrays me with a tremor.

Johnny shifts behind me, his arm looping gently around my waist from behind.

“No ye’re not, lass,” he says softly, sounding more tender than usual. “You’re burnin’ up.”

I lean back against his chest without thinking — my body moving before my brain catches up. His scent pours over me, grounding and sharp and familiar.

Kyle notices the way my breath catches and moves closer, tucking himself against my front.

His hand rests on my uninjured shoulder, thumb stroking slowly, soothingly.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispers, forehead pressing against mine. “Just breathe, love.”

I do.

But breathing only makes their scents stronger.

And that makes my whole body pulse.

John sits near my legs, giving me room but staying close enough that I can feel the gentle hum of his presence. He’s the calmest of them — but even he looks strained, jaw clenched tight as my scent wraps around him like a warm blanket.

“This is normal,” he reminds me, voice low. “Heat doesn’t always hit all at once. Sometimes it builds. Slow. Insistent.”

Insistent.

That’s exactly what it feels like.

I curl closer to Kyle without meaning to, tucking my face into the warm skin of his throat. His scent fills my lungs and something inside me aches.

A soft, involuntary sound slips out of me — a needy little whimper I can’t swallow down.

The entire nest reacts.

Johnny’s breath stutters behind me.

John goes perfectly still.

And Simon—

Simon leans in, slow, deliberate, like a predator giving prey a chance to run.

“Omega,” he says, voice deep enough to shake my bones, “don’t make sounds like that unless you know what they do to us.”

I freeze, embarrassed, swallowing hard.

“S-sorry,” I whisper, trying to hide my face.

But Kyle won’t let me.

He gently cups my cheek and guides me to look at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but his touch is maddeningly soft.

“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb under my eye. “Don’t apologize. Not for something natural.”

Johnny hums his agreement, lowering his forehead to the back of my shoulder, scenting lightly.

“Not for somethin’ beautiful, either,” he adds quietly.

John clears his throat, voice careful, measured.

“Just tell us what you need, alright? Heat can feel overwhelming. You’re allowed to ask for comfort.”

Comfort.

The word settles somewhere deep in my chest.

“I… I want you closer,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon inhales sharply through his nose — the only sign he’s affected.

“Closer how?” he asks, gentle but firm. “Use your words.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cheeks burning.

“I just… I want you all near me. Touching me. Not— not like—”

The heat rolls again, thick, clinging, making my breath shake.

“Just… don’t go.”

Kyle’s expression softens instantly.

“We’re not going anywhere, bug.”

He shifts, sliding fully into the nest beside me, molding his body to mine. His arm wraps around my waist, thumb rubbing soothing circles into my hip. His scent floods the space around us — sweet, warm, protective.

Johnny follows, curling his body along my back again, one leg tucking around mine.

His nose buries in my hair as he murmurs soft praise.

“Good lass… we’ve got ye… breathe…”

John moves next, settling near my feet but leaning in enough that his hands rest gently over my ankles, anchoring me.

Simon moves last.

He slides into the nest with a slow, deliberate grace that makes the air shift. He sits beside me, close enough that his thigh presses gently against mine. His presence is heavy, grounding, an anchor in a storm.

His hand hovers near my knee.

“May I?” he asks.

I nod, stomach flipping.

He rests his hand there — warm, broad, steady.

The touch is chaste… but it feels like a spark igniting along my skin.

I exhale shakily, tension melting from my shoulders.

“There she goes,” Kyle murmurs into my hair, voice warm and proud. “Good. Just relax, love.”

My fingers curl into his shirt.

“You’re doing perfect,” Johnny adds, brushing a kiss to the crown of my head.

I feel safe.

Held.

Wanted.

Surrounded by warmth and scent and soft touches.

My heat pulses again, stronger this time, and my breath hitches.

Simon feels the shift and leans closer, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

“Let it come,” he murmurs. “We’re here.”

I think, for the first time in my life, I believe him.

Simon watches me like he’s memorising the way my breath stutters.

His hand stays on my knee, heavy, grounding… and pulsing with restrained tension.

Another wave hits and I can’t hold in the sound that slips out — a soft, needy whine.

The growl that answers it is unanimous.

Heat curls under my ribs.

“Omega,” Simon warns softly, “you’re tempting us.”

“I—I’m not trying to,” I whisper, though my body leans toward his hand instinctively.

Kyle tilts my chin up toward him.

“Love… heat makes you honest. That’s all.”

“Just means you trust us,” Johnny murmurs, breath warm on my ear. “Means your body knows who your pack is.”

John hums low in his chest, fingers brushing my ankle.

“If it’s too much, say the word.”

But it isn’t too much.

It’s overwhelming, yes — but wrapped in safety. Wrapped in them.

The tension thickens like honey.

Kyle pulls me tighter against him, fitting me perfectly against his chest.

Johnny presses closer from behind, his arm curling securely around my waist.

John’s hands move up my legs, slow, steady, worshipful.

Simon finally slides his hand from my knee up to my hip.

A simple touch.

But it feels like the world stops.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice so deep it vibrates through my bones. “Asking for what you want.”

My whole body shivers.

Heat pulses again — deeper, stronger — and my fingers clutch at Kyle’s shirt without meaning to.

Kyle’s breath catches.

Johnny lets out a strangled sound.

John presses a steady, grounding kiss to my ankle.

Simon’s grip on my hip tightens just slightly.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

Everything inside me feels soft and bright and wanting.

Not desperate — not yet — but close. So close.

My head falls against Kyle’s shoulder.

“I think… I think it’s really starting…”

Kyle kisses my forehead.

“We know, bug.”

Johnny presses his forehead to the back of my neck, voice shaking with restraint.

“Aye, lass. We’re right here.”

John’s hand cups my calf, soothing, steady.

“You’re safe.”

Simon leans in, lips brushing my ear.

Another wave slams through me, and I whimper—

Everything dissolves into heat and scent and instinct—

Their hands—

Their voices—

The nest—

My pack—

And then—

warmth and breath and touch. Everything passes in a blur of pleasure, words of affection and possessiveness.

*Timeskip to a few hours later*

*John’s POV*

The nest is quiet.

Soft breathing, the rustle of blankets, the warmth of four bodies curled protectively around one small Omega.

Laika sleeps tucked between Kyle and Simon, her face relaxed, her scent soft and sweet — settled, sated, safe.

Kyle has one arm draped over her waist, fingers still resting against her hip like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go. Johnny is splayed over behind Kyle snoring loudly.

Simon is curled at her back, nose buried in her hair, still knotted with our Omega.

Simon hasn’t slept.

He moves slightly , broad body curved around her protectively, one hand gently combing through her hair. The tenderness in the gesture hits me harder than anything else.

“You alright?” I murmur quietly.

He doesn’t look up.

“She asked for us,” he says softly. “She wanted us close.”

“She did.”

“She trusted us.” His jaw ticks. “Even with the heat hitting her that hard.”

“That wasn’t an accident,” I say. “Her instincts know we’re her pack.”

Simon finally exhales, some tension leaving his shoulders.

“She didn’t break,” he says quietly. “I didn’t break her.”

“You never would,” I tell him.

He finally meets my eyes — and there it is.

Something raw, something fierce, something entirely devoted.

I’ve only seen Simon Riley look like this once before.

This is love. Vulnerability.

“She’s ours,” he says softly. Not a claim. Not a demand. A realisation.

My chest loosens.

“She knows,” I say.

He looks down at her again, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

Laika shifts in her sleep, instinctively burrowing deeper towards Simon, tussling his Knot slightly causing him to growl softly.

Simon goes completely still — and then melts. Actually melts.

He bends down and presses a slow, reverent kiss to the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely audible.

My heart twists.

We’ve all been through hell these past weeks — but this?

This is something holy.

*Laika’s POV*

I wake slowly.

Warm. Safe. Wrapped in the scents of my Alphas.

My body feels heavy, relaxed, the way it does after a long bath or a deep sleep — except warmer. Softer.

Something strong and steady is pressed against my back.

Simon. I can feel his knot, stuck deep in my guts.

His arm tight around me, breath warm on my neck.

Kyle is in front of me, his face tucked into my hair, his hand splayed over my stomach.

Simon’s chest is against me, solid and protective, his fingers absently stroking my hip.

John sits nearby, watching quietly, his eyes soft.

I swallow, voice small.

“Did I… was everything okay?”

John looks at me instantly.

Simon pulls me closer.

“You were perfect.”

Johnny hums in his sleep.

Then Simon speaks, voice low and steady.

“You were… incredible.”

My cheeks heat.

“I feel… different,” I whisper. “Better. Not scared anymore.”

Simon brushes his fingers through my hair again.

“You’re part of our pack now. Forever. We are never letting you go.”

“I feel like I belong…”

“You do,” he says. No growl, no command—just truth.

“You always did. Took you long enough to realise.”

A laugh shakes out of me—small, surprised, but real.

The pack shifts around me, forming a warm tangle of limbs and breath and hearts beating close enough to touch.

Johnny nuzzles into my shoulder.

“’Bout damn time, Bonnie.”

And as their arms encircle me, holding me safe in a nest that feels more like a heartbeat than a bed, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

This is where my story ends.

The soldier’s voice drops, low and quiet.

“Hostile’s wounded.. That makes him unpredictable. Stay sharp.”

Sharp. Right. I am well aware that I’m not a trained soldier, and currently wearing stilettos and a pencil skirt, but I swallow and nod anyway.

He moves forward, each step controlled—silent despite the heavy gear. I can see the smear of blood soaking through the torn fabric on his shoulder, but he doesn’t falter. Whoever he is, pain seems like background noise.

We reach the smashed window frame where the gunman escaped. Beyond it, the smoke-thick corridor feels like another world—one where the air tastes like dust and gunpowder. Papers drift like ash. Someone’s handbag lies discarded, its contents scattered across the carpet.

The soldier scans the hallway, then tilts his head, listening.

I hear it too.

Footsteps.

Fast. Unsteady. Moving farther down the corridor, toward the emergency stairwell.

“He’s running,” I whisper.

“No,” the soldier murmurs. “He’s repositioning.”

A cold shiver scrapes down my spine.

He taps something on his radio. “Price, hostile is mobile—heading east. Injured. Civilians on floors eight and ten. Need containment now.”

A burst of static replies, then confirmation.

He turns slightly toward me. “You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve been evacuated with the others.”

“I - uhm - sort of.. volunteered.” My voice is weaker than I want it to be.

His eyes—dark behind the skull mask—linger on me just long enough to register something like surprise. Or disbelief.

“Not smart,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” I breathe, “I’m starting to realise that.”

He almost—almost—sounds like he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.

A crash erupts at the far end of the hallway—metal hitting metal. We both jump. The soldier raises his gun again, stepping forward.

Then he stops.

He turns his head toward me, sharp. Assessing.

“Did the guy say was looking for something... A USB.”

“Y-yes.”

He steps closer. Not threatening. Intent. “Where would it be?”

If Stephen hid it…

If he panicked when he heard the sirens…

If he knew someone like Mr. Skull-Mask here might come knocking…

My brain suddenly clicks.

“I think I have an idea,” I whisper.

He tilts his head.

“Stephen… he used to hide things up there so the cleaners wouldn’t find them and move everything around. He’d climb on his chair and push things between the tiles but he always forgot where he put things himself. Stupid wanker. If he had something valuable—or something that he needed to keep hidden—he’d hide it where even he’d forget about it.”

The soldier considers this.

Then he lowers his weapon slightly and points to a tile above Stephen’s office doorway.

“That one’s been moved.”

I hadn’t noticed it before—the faint misalignment, the subtle dip in the corner.

My pulse spikes.

He steps under it, testing the floor with his boot, then glances back at me.

“Lift the tile.”

“Me?” I gulp

“You’re smaller. Quieter,” he says. “And my arm’s shot. It’ll be noisy if I do it.”

Right. Right. Great. Just fantastic.

My hands shake as I remove my heels so I can step onto Stephen’s abandoned office chair. It wobbles dangerously. The soldier steadies it with one hand, eyes constantly scanning the corridor.

I reach up, push the tile aside—

And something small and black clatters into my palm.

The USB stick.

Oh god.

My breath stutters. “This… this is it?”

He nods once. “Pocket it.”

I slip it into my skirt pocket, trembling. He steps away from the chair and motions for me to follow.

“We need to secure you,” he says, voice clipped. “You’re now the primary target.”

“I—I don’t think I want to be the primary target!”

“Too late.”

“—”

Before I can argue, a gunshot tears through the corridor, exploding a ceiling tile above us.

I scream—instinctive, raw.

The soldier grabs my arm and yanks me behind him, shielding me with his body as bullets slice into the walls. Plaster explodes. A computer monitor shatters nearby.

The gunman is back—limping, furious, firing wildly from the far end of the hall.

The soldier pushes me down behind an overturned filing cabinet.

“Stay low,” he growls. “Do. Not. Move.”

He rises from cover with terrifying speed, firing three controlled shots down the corridor. One hits the wall beside the gunman’s head, forcing him to duck back behind a pillar.

“Pass me your phone,” the soldier says suddenly.

“He smashed it!” I choke out.

He swears under his breath. Not loud, but loaded.

Another shot shrieks overhead.

The soldier presses a hand to his shoulder, blood still seeping between his fingers. “He’s stalling. Waiting for his cronies. They’ll come for the drive.”

“You mean more of him?!”

“Yep,” he says simply.

My stomach drops so hard it might as well fall straight out of me.

He checks the hallway again, muscles coiled.

“We’re moving,” he says.

“What?! Where?!”

“Just follow me.”

“Follow you where!?”

He looks down at me—steady, unreadable, terrifyingly composed.

“The roof.”

“The r—no! No, no, no—he’ll see us, he’ll shoot us—”

“He’s pinned. He won’t have line of sight,” the soldier says, already pulling me to my feet. “Move now.”

I stumble after him because I have no other choice, heart thrashing against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

We reach the stairwell door. He checks the window, then shoulders it open.

Fresh air rushes in from the shaft. Cool. Metallic. It smells like rust and rain.

He motions me up. “Go.”

I run—legs shaking, lungs burning, heels clacking. He follows close, scanning downward every few steps.

We reach the top landing. The metal door to the roof is bolted.

Or it should be.

Instead, it hangs open—just a crack.

The soldier freezes.

That’s never a good sign.

He raises a hand to silence me.

Listens.

I step closer to him, terrified, and he snaps his head glaring at my feet.

He tilts his head once and it’s enough to understand he wants my heels off. Too noisy.

I slip them off and abandon them behind the door. I liked those heels I think a little glumly.

Then he pushes the door open with the barrel of his gun.

But we’re not alone.

A helicopter circles overhead—black, unmarked, lowering as if preparing to land.

The soldier swears—quiet, but vicious.

“They’re early.”

I swallow. “Who’s early?”

He lifts his gun, eyes narrowing behind the mask.

“The guys who want that USB badly enough to kill an entire office.”

The helicopter dips lower.

And a man in full tactical armor appears—black gear, red visor, weapon already raised.

The soldier beside me lowers into a stance, steadying his injured arm.

“This,” he mutters, “is going to get messy.”

He glances back at me, just once.

“Stay behind me. And whatever happens—don’t lose that drive.”

I grip my pocket like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.

Because suddenly—

It is.

Ghost grips his rifle tighter, eyes flicking from the descending helicopter to the stairwell door behind us. His breathing is steady, controlled—but I can feel the tension radiating off him.

“They’re not supposed to be here yet,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

The helicopter lowers another meter, wind whipping across the rooftop like a physical force. The man in black tactical armor steps closer to the edge, weapon raised directly at us.

Ghost shifts, placing himself between me and the threat, his stance lowering into something lethal.

Then his radio crackles.

“Bravo Six to Ghost.”

A deep, calm voice—British, gravelly.

Authoritative.

Ghost exhales just a fraction. “Go ahead, Price.”

“Gaz has eyes on your tango. Soap’s flanking from the south utility corridor. We need that drive secured. Do you have it?”

His gaze flicks to my pocket. “Affirmative.”

“Then hold position. We’re pushing them off your roof.”

The helicopter suddenly jerks sideways as a burst of gunfire arcs up from another rooftop—precise, controlled shots. The pilot veers, pulling the aircraft back to avoid taking a hit.

Ghost’s mask angles slightly.

“…Gaz,” he mutters with a hint of respect.

Price’s voice returns, low and sharp.

“Ghost—keep the girl alive. Soap’s cutting off their escape inside. Gaz is suppressing the air team. You move on my mark.”

Ghost nods once. “Copy.”

I swallow. “Y-you have a whole team in here?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the helicopter.

“Had them the whole time.”

Another voice bursts in—this one younger, eager, Scottish:

“Ghost, I’m in position—south corridor’s clear. Push him toward me and I’ll take out the runner.”

“Affirmative” Ghost mutters.

Then a third voice—smooth, warm, focused:

“Roof team, this is Gaz. Helo’s backing off, but they’re not retreating. Pilot’s lining up for another drop. You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before they try again.”

Price cuts in sharply.

“Ghost—move her inside. Now.”

Ghost grabs my wrist—not rough, but firm—and pulls me toward the stairwell just as bullets ping off the concrete near our feet. I yelp and duck instinctively.

He pushes me through the door. “Down the stairs. Fast.”

I stumble down the first step, heart in my throat. “What about you?!”

“I’m right behind you.”

I hear him fire a controlled burst back through the doorway before slamming it shut and locking it with a metal bar.

We run.

My breath rasps, echoing off the concrete walls. Ghost stays close, sweeping corners with his weapon even as he moves with that eerie, fluid precision.

Halfway down the first flight, his radio crackles again.

“Ghost, tango’s movin’ toward me. He’s bleedin’ like mad but still fast. You’re herding him nicely.”

“Don’t get cocky, Johnny”

A chuckle. “Me? Never.”

Another burst of gunfire echoes somewhere below us.

Ghost’s posture shifts. He hears something I don’t.

I stop, chest heaving. “What—?”

He holds up a finger, eyes narrowing behind the mask. Silence hangs for half a second.

Then—

BOOM.

A small explosion shakes the stairwell.

I scream, stumbling back into the rail. Dust rains from the ceiling.

Ghost catches me by the shoulder. “It’s okay. That wasSoap breaching a wall. He does that.”

“That was—that was one of your team?!”

“Unfortunately.”

His radio crackles again.

“Ghost, I got him! Suspect’s down—”

Ghost swears and yanks me into motion again. “We need to reach them. Now.”

We descend another flight, and I hear shouting—Soap’s voice—and another man’s enraged screams.

Ghost hits the next landing at a run. “Stay behind me.”

He pushes the door open—

—and chaos explodes in front of us.

The corridor is filled with smoke, debris, and broken ceiling tiles. Soap is halfway over the suspect, trying to pin him down. The gunman, wild-eyed and desperate, claws at Soap’s arm with blood-slick hands.

Soap grins like he’s having the time of his life.

“Nice of you to join us, Lt!”

Ghost strides forward, grabs the gunman by the collar, and slams him back against the wall with a force that makes the plaster crack. The man chokes, struggling.

“Where’s the rest of your team?” Ghost growls.

The gunman spits blood at his mask.

Ghost cocks his head. “Wrong answer.”

Before he can interrogate further, Gaz’s voice cuts in sharply.

“Ghost—company incoming. Three hostiles inside the building, east stairwell. They’re headed your way.”

Soap’s grin fades. “Ah, shite.”

Ghost turns to me.

“Stay behind Soap. Don’t move unless he tells you.”

Soap winks at me. “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll keep y’safe.”

My face goes hot. “Not the time! And what kind of name is Soap?!”

Ghost shoulders his rifle. “Price, Advise?”

Price’s voice comes through steady and commanding.

“Ghost—get her to the server room. Reinforced walls. Only defensible spot until exfil arrives. Gaz will cover your north corridor. Soap, you’re rear guard.”

Ghost grabs my wrist again. “Move.”

“Ouch” I gasp, snatching my wrist away. It didn’t even hurt much, but the adrenaline is wearing off now and I feel exhausted and irritated. Why me?!

Soap falls into step behind us, gun raised, all humour gone now.

We move down the hall.

Trained soldiers moving like a single unit.

And me.

The girl who started the day editing reports.

And now holds the one thing everyone seems willing to kill for.

The USB in my pocket feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.

Behind us, distant footsteps echo—three sets, moving fast.

Soap glances back. “Ghost—they’re pickin’ up speed!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ghost snaps. “We reach the server room first.”

I force my legs to keep moving, lungs burning.

By the time we reach the reinforced metal door, my legs feel like they’re made of electricity—shaking, buzzing, barely keeping me upright. Ghost shoves the door open with his shoulder and motions me inside.

The room is cold. Loud. Servers hum in towering blue-lit racks, cables weaving like metal vines. The lights flicker overhead as the power strains under the building’s chaos.

Soap slams the door shut behind us and slides the steel locking bar into place.

“Bought us a minute,” Soap mutters. “Maybe less.”

“Let’s make it count,” Ghost says.

I press myself against one of the racks, trying to keep out of their way, attempting to catch my breath and trying not to panic at the way Ghost’s chest rises and falls faster than before. He’s been moving nonstop. He’s wounded. He’s bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.

And the hostiles are close.

His radio crackles.

“Ghost—keep the package safe. Everything else is secondary.”

Ghost’s mask turns toward me.

I offer him the USB in my open palm and he just shakes his head and closes my fingers back around the stick.

Oh

The “package” is me.

Well me and the USB in my pocket.

Neither thought is comforting.

Soap moves to one corner, rifle raised toward the door. “Lieutenant, got movement outside.”

Ghost positions himself near the opposite angle. They form a perfect lethal front—trained, synchronized, terrifying.

My heartbeat is in my ears.

Bang.

Something slams into the door.

Bang. Bang.

The door buckles slightly.

“Bloody hell,” Soap mutters. “They’re determined.”

The door explodes inward in a shower of sparks and splintered metal.

Three armed men rush in.

Everything happens at once.

Ghost fires first—controlled, precise shots. One hostile drops immediately.

Soap engages the second, moving with an agility that shouldn’t be possible with so much gear. The hallway behind the door rings with gunfire.

The third hostile barrels past them both—

Right toward me.

I freeze.

He sees me. The USB. My fear.

And he charges.

I stumble backward, hitting a server rack so hard my shoulder screams. Before I can even make a noise, Ghost intercepts him—tackling him away from me.

They crash to the floor.

The gunman twists, raising his weapon—

BANG.

Ghost jerks.

The shot punches into his side.

“No no no—” The sound tears out of me without permission.

Ghost fights through it, slamming an elbow into the attacker’s jaw. They grapple violently on the floor—brutal, frantic. Ghost’s strength is unbelievable, but he’s hurt. Slower. Bleeding.

The gunman scrambles for the weapon he dropped. I see it first—

A pistol, spinning across the floor, sliding to a stop right beside my shaking hand.

I stare at it.

No.

No, no, no, I can’t—

I’ve never—

Ghost’s voice, raw and urgent, cuts through the panic.

“Pick it up!”

Time fractures.

I grab the pistol from the ground staring at it. It looks so out of place in my manicured hands with my painted nails.

Another hostile rushes in from the broken door behind Soap, weapon raised—

Ghost sees him.

He can’t react in time.

“Shoot!” Ghost roars, snapping me from my trance.

“I—I don’t—!”

“Point and pull the damn trigger!”

My finger squeezes.

The gun bucks violently in my hand.

I scream—

The bullet slams into the hostile’s body, spinning him backward into the server rack with a metallic crash.

I stand there shaking, ears ringing, breath gone.

“I—I hit him? I HIT him?! I didn’t mean—I mean I DID—but—oh my god - oh my GOD” My words fall apart.

Ghost, still fighting his attacker on the ground, gives the faintest grunt of approval.

The man he’s wrestling with reaches for a combat knife.

Ghost doesn’t see it.

“Knife!” I yell.

He turns just as the blade arcs downward—

Then a single deafening shot hits the attacker square in the back.

He collapses instantly.

Ghost inhales sharply, pushing the body aside and rising unsteadily to one knee.

Someone else fired that shot.

I point the gun at the incoming gunfire.

The server room door frame fills with two unfamiliar silhouettes.

One tall, commanding, bearded—weapon still raised.

I assume this is Captain John Price.

And beside him, breathing hard but steady, rifle up—

Gaz.

Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give out.

Price sweeps the room with his weapon, confirming no movement.

Then his eyes land on Ghost—bleeding, wounded, exhausted.

“Bloody hell, Simon,” Price mutters, tone caught somewhere between reprimand and concern. “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes.”

Simon I think. That must be his name.

Ghost pushes himself fully upright, hand pressed to his side. “He had the girl.”

“Looks like the girl held her own,” Gaz says, nodding to me with a stunned, impressed expression. “Nice shot. But you can stop pointing it at us now” he laughs, pushing the gun to point towards the ground.

I drop the pistol in horror, realising that I had been pointing it at the guys who were protecting me. “I—it was an accident—I just pointed and—!”

“Still counts,” Soap calls from behind Gaz, grinning like a madman despite a cut on his forehead. “Killcount: 1 to the pretty civvy” the Scot jokes.

Price steps toward me slowly, carefully, like I might faint or bolt.

“You alright?” he asks, voice softer than expected.

I swallow hard. “I… I shot someone.”

“You saved Ghost’s life,” Price says simply. “That’s a damn good start.”

Ghost doesn’t look at me, but I see the small nod beneath his mask. Approval. Or acknowledgment. Or something I can’t name.

Price gestures to the door. “We move now. More hostiles will be inbound, maybe an entire unit. Whatever’s on that drive—they want it bad.”

Ghost finally speaks, voice lower than before, strained with pain.

“Price. She has the USB.”

All eyes turn to me.

Suddenly, the tiny object in my pocket feels like a live bomb.

Price straightens, expression tightening.

“Right then,” he says. “We’re not losing her, and we’re not losing that drive. Gaz—front. Soap—rear. Ghost, you stay on her.”

Ghost steps closer, hand briefly steadying the wall.

He’s hurting. Badly.

But when his eyes meet mine behind the mask, the message is clear:

Stick close.

Don’t freeze.

We’re getting out of here.

Price signals the team to move.

The door opens.

Ghost steps to my side, reaches down and holds the pistol out for me to take.

“Here ya’ go, little miss sharp shooter”.

I stare at the pistol in my hands before accepting my fate and following the men into the corridor.

As I enter the office building, I’m greeted by the slightly creepy security guard. His eyes always linger a little too long when he says good morning, and I’m never sure if it’s my imagination or if he really does let his gaze slide downward toward my chest. Either way, I never know what to do with myself—I just smile awkwardly, swipe my security card, and hurry into the crowded lift, hoping I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel. I press the button for the ninth floor, and the lift jolts upwards.

As I head toward my desk, Stephen, my boss, barely looks at me before shuffling a thick stack of paperwork and dropping it onto my keyboard. “That should keep you busy, sweet cheeks. I need these by close of play today. I know you’ll manage. Give us a shout if you need any help!”

I force a tight smile, even though my stomach twists. Sweet cheeks. Like that’s my actual name. I tell myself, as usual, that it’s not worth making a fuss—that I should just get on with it, that maybe if I were a little more confident or… I don’t know, impressive, he’d speak to me like a real adult. Instead, I just stare at the mountain of work and mentally try to organise how I’m going to plan my day around his impossible deadlines.

My desk is by the window, giving me the perfect view of the streets below—people rushing, cars weaving, the constant hum of a city that never seems to stop. This had been my dream for so long: land my first proper big-girl job, get promoted, move into the city, finally prove I could make something of myself. And technically, I’d done all of that. I’d achieved more than I ever thought I would.

But somehow, it still felt like everything was slipping sideways. My friends were all back in my hometown, my family barely spoke to me anymore, and I never seemed to get a second to breathe.

I glance over at Stephen’s glass office and spot him with his feet kicked up on his desk, casually eating a croissant like he’s doing the world a favour by existing. Lazy pig, I mutter in my head.

The day slips past faster than I expect, and before I know it, my colleagues are already wandering off for lunch or coming back with food that smells ten times better than anything I packed. I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and realise it’s already lunchtime. Crap. My stomach growls right on cue—loud enough that I’m sure at least three people heard.

Three out of the five mountains of paperwork Stephen dumped on me this morning were finally submitted for finalisation, so I decided I’d earned a break. My stomach certainly thought so. I slipped away from my desk and headed toward the little coffee shop on the corner. A sandwich and a coffee from Benny’s diner. At least Benny was always cheery and kind, with a genuine smile.

I ignore the sleazy security guard’s eyes as I leave the office and head toward Benny’s. As I round the corner to cross at the lights, I spot a few police cars up ahead, but it doesn’t really register. It’s the city—there’s always something going on. Probably a shoplifter or a traffic accident. Nothing to worry about.

The bell chimes above the door as I step into the diner. Benny glances up with that warm, familiar smile of his. “What can I get you today—the usual?” he asks.

“You know me too well,” I laugh, even though it comes out a little awkward. “Yeah… just the same as always, please.”

I place the money on the counter and glance back at the police officers walking the street outside. “They’ve been looking for someone or somethin’ for a coupla hours,” Benny says as he wraps my sandwich. “Looks serious—had guys with guns here and everythin’,” he continues.

“Really?! Looks like a TV show out there…” I joke, trying to sound casual. “I watch way too many American cop shows.”

I force a small laugh, but it comes out thinner than I expect. I glance back toward the windows again, watching the officers pacing past with that tense, searching look. My stomach tightens—not hunger this time.

“Hope it’s nothing serious though,” I add quickly, because the last thing I want is to seem like some weirdo who enjoys disaster as lunchtime entertainment.

Benny hums in agreement as he wraps my sandwich, but even he looks uneasy. “Sure it’ll blow over, darling. Enjoy your lunch! Don’t let them work you too hard over there,” he says, nodding toward my office building.

“To the bone, Benny, to the bone!” I joke, throwing my hands up in mock despair.

He chuckles, but there’s a flicker of worry in his eyes as he hands me the bag. I thank him and push the door open, stepping back into the street and trying my best to stay out of the police officers’ way. Something about the tightness in the air prickles at the back of my neck, but I shake it off. Just another day in the city… right?

As I step back into the building and into the lift, I notice the security guard staring intently at the CCTV screens, flipping through live feeds of every floor and entrance. It’s the first time he hasn’t watched me cross the foyer like I’m part of the entertainment. Honestly, it’s a relief. I ride up to the ninth floor, slip into my chair, and start working through the four new emails that arrived while I was out.

As I take the first bite of my sandwich, a group of colleagues gathers by the window, whispering and pointing down at the street below. I decide not to get sucked into whatever gossip whirlwind they’re brewing. I just chew, swallow, and carry on. The less distraction, the better. Still another couple of reports to complete after all!

“Oh my god, are those -like -actual army guys?” Andi, the hopelessly clueless new intern, gasps from the window. “It’s just like Celebrity SAS! Look at the size of their guns!”

I roll my eyes from my desk. Actual army guys—of course everyone else gets to enjoy the show while I’m glued to my screen like the office gremlin I apparently am. Sure, I’d love to go stare at them too, but I’ve got two monstrous reports left and only three hours to crank them out. So no distracting, handsome, heavily armed men for me… just my keyboard, my anxiety, and the creeping suspicion that this is going to end up with me having to stay late to get these finished.

Everyone eventually drifts back to their desks, and the familiar sounds of typing and paper shuffling fill the office again. I’m just putting the final touches on my second-last report when I lean back in my chair and stretch. My spine gives a few satisfying clicks, and a huge yawn forces my eyes shut for a moment.

When I open them again, something moves in the hallway—just at the edge of my vision. I freeze. That was… weird. I glance around the office to see if anyone else noticed and apparently I am just imagining things because no one else seems to have moved.

I email the report away and hype myself up to start the last one of the day. Hooray!!

My subconscious keeps nudging me to look at the hallway again, so I steal a second glance. My stomach drops when I notice the lift door has been propped open with a coffee tray. That shouldn’t happen. Ever. Panic prickles under my skin, even though I keep telling myself I’m probably overthinking it—overreacting, like always. I clear my throat, trying to steady my breathing, and stand up from my desk. Maybe I just need a minute. I head to the bathroom to get my thoughts straight.

Everything in the bathroom is normal. I grip the sink and stare at myself in the mirror, willing my pulse to slow. You’re being ridiculous, I tell myself. Completely overthinking it. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing is happening. I just need to get a grip and finish my work.

I take one last breath—deep, steadying, rehearsed—before pushing the door open. And when I step back into the office, everything is exactly as I left it. People typing. Phones ringing. No panic. No danger.

So why won’t the tight knot in my stomach loosen?

Twenty minutes or so pass, and I’ve just about forgotten the spike of panic from earlier when a window explodes inward on the far side of the room. The crack of shattering glass punches through the office, followed by screams and the frantic shuffle of feet as several colleagues bolt for the stairwell.

I freeze. For a beat too long, I just stare—and then I see him.

A gunman. Inside the office. Inside my office.

He turns, and for one sickening moment, I swear his eyes lock straight onto mine. My gaze darts around the room. There are still five of us up here… plus him.

Oh crap.

Andi bolts for the door—of course she does - headless chicken mentality. Before she can get two steps past him, the gunman snatches her by the head and slams her skull against the wall. The crack is sickening. She drops instantly, limp, out cold. He grabs her by the arms, drags her to the lift, and shoves her in before sending it down to the ground floor.

At least she’s alive, I tell myself, swallowing hard as I stay perfectly, painfully still.

He turns back toward the room, and the air seems to thin. My lungs forget how to work. I force myself to stay still, small, invisible. It’s what I’m best at, right? Being the girl no one notices. God, I wish that actually worked right now.

The gunman sweeps his weapon across the office, motioning for the remaining four of us to move. No one dares breathe too loudly. He jerks his head toward the far corner of the room where a cluster of filing cabinets forms a makeshift barrier. We obey, stumbling into a tight group. My heartbeat feels like it’s punching me from the inside.

“Phones. All of them. Now.” His voice is low, rough—too calm.

I fumble with mine, nearly dropping it as I hand it over. My fingers are trembling so badly I’m convinced he can hear them shake.

He pockets the phones and presses something on his earpiece. “Floor nine secured.”

I gulp and try to take stock of what is happening. Of any way out of this mess.

My colleagues are whimpering quietly beside me. No one speaks above a breath. I force myself to look around without moving my head. Stephen’s office—his smug-glass fortress—is empty. Of course he’s not here to deal with this. Typical. He’s probably hiding in a cabinet somewhere or halfway down the fire escape already.

The gunman turns to the windows, glancing down at the street. His shoulders tense. Whatever he sees doesn’t please him.

“You—get up. Move.”

The gunman’s voice cracks like a whip, aimed at the one male colleague still frozen in place. I think his name is Gavin, but honestly, I’m not sure—I’ve barely spoken more than three words to him since he joined. Gavin jerks upright, trembling so hard I can see it from across the room, and lets the man herd him forward with the cold, deliberate nudge of the gun’s barrel.

A burst of static explodes from the gunman’s radio, making me flinch.

“Have you found it?” a distorted voice demands.

“No,” the gunman growls. “I have hostages. Can’t look until they’re dealt with.”

Dealt with.

The phrase slams into my chest like a physical hit. My palms go slick. My heartbeat surges high in my throat, loud enough I’m terrified he’ll hear it. I try to make myself smaller in my chair—quiet, invisible, forgettable. The one thing I’ve always been good at.

The gunman turns, scanning the remaining four of us. His gaze slices across the room like a knife and lands on our desks, our bags, our computers—calculating, searching. He’s looking for something. Something important.

And he’s getting frustrated.

Gavin whimpers when the man shoves him again. The rest of us stay silent. No one breathes too loudly. No one moves.

Then his gaze snaps to me.

I freeze. My thoughts shrivel into static.

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I swear he can see the panic blooming beneath my skin.

“You,” he says, stepping toward me.

My stomach plummets…

The gunman jerks his chin at me. “You. Phone the police. Tell them you’re being held hostage. Put it on speaker… I want to hear what they say.”

My mouth goes dry. My fingers shake as I fumble for my phone, praying I won’t drop it, praying he won’t notice how violently my hands tremble. I unlock it with a shaky thumb and dial the number, every beep absurdly loud in the dead silence of the office.

He watches me like a hawk—like he’ll shoot the air out of my lungs if I press the wrong button.

The call connects.

“Emergency services, what—”

“We’re—” My voice cracks, humiliatingly small. I swallow and try again. “We’re being held hostage on the ninth floor of Greyford Tower. There’s a gunman.”

The gunman lifts his radio to his mouth, listening.

On speaker, the operator’s tone changes instantly. Calm. Controlled. “Stay on the line. Are you somewhere safe?”

“No,” I breathe. “No, I’m—he’s right here.”

“Ask them what they’re doing,” the gunman snaps.

My stomach twists. “They… they want to know if we’re safe.”

“Tell them no one will be safe unless they stop searching. Say it.”

My heart hammers against my ribs so hard it hurts. “He says no one will be safe unless you stop searching.”

There’s a pause on the line—heavy, static-filled, too long to be reassuring.

The operator speaks again, still calm. “Stay where you are. Armed response is—”

The gunman strides forward and snatches the phone from my hand, ending the call in one violent tap.

“Idiots,” he mutters. “They never listen.”

He tosses my phone onto a nearby desk. I flinch at the clatter.

Gavin—or whatever his name actually is—lets out a choked sob. The gunman ignores him and begins pacing the room, eyes scanning every workstation, every bag, every drawer left half-open by panicked coworkers.

He’s looking for something. Something specific. And he’s getting angrier every second he doesn’t find it.

My pulse thuds in my ears. My legs tremble. I force myself not to move, not even to breathe too loudly.

Because I know—deep in my gut—that this is only the beginning.

Gavin is deposited back with the rest of us, and he takes a big sigh of relief. He waits for the gunman to turn his back before he reaches for his phone. I try to stop him.

Gavin’s hands shake so badly he nearly drops his phone as he dials. I can hear the ringing from beside him—too loud, too sharp, slicing right through the panic buzzing in my ears.

“999, what’s your emergency?”

Gavin swallows. “W-We’re being held hostage,” he stammers. “Office building—floor nine—he has a gun—” he whispers.

The gunman whips around when he hears the voice.

Before the operator can even respond, Gavin bolts.

He actually runs.

“No—no no no—Gavin, don’t—” The words escape me before I can stop them.

The gunman lifts his weapon with terrifying calm.

One shot.

Gavin collapses mid-stride, face-first onto the carpet. The phone clatters beside him, the operator still calling out, “Hello? Sir? Sir, are you safe? Hello?”

Blood is already pooling beneath him.

I slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. The others—two women from accounting and another from marketing crumple to the floor sobbing. I can’t tear my eyes away from Gavin’s body.

The gunman steps forward and nudges Gavin’s shoulder with his boot, confirming what we all already know. “Stupid,” he mutters, leaning down to pick up the phone. He hangs up and tosses it aside.

Then he looks at us.

“All of you stay exactly where you are,” he orders, pacing with agitation now. “I don’t want you. I don’t care about you. I just need the damn USB.”

USB?

For a second, my brain latches onto that ridiculous detail. People are dying—there’s a gunman in our office—and he’s looking for… a memory stick?

My thoughts spin. Stephen’s paperwork. His frantic deadlines today. The police outside earlier. The security guard finally paying attention to something other than me.

This is connected. Of course it’s connected.

The gunman kicks over a stack of files, scattering pages like frightened birds. “It’s here. Has to be. Someone on this floor has it.”

His gaze sweeps over us again, and I flinch as it lands on me—too long, too curious—as if he notices something in my face I didn’t mean to reveal.

I force myself to look down.

Small. Invisible. That’s always been my strength, right?

He snorts. “Fine. Everyone stays put.” He strides toward Stephen’s office and starts tearing through drawers, sending pens and documents clattering to the floor.

The moment he’s out of direct sight, the woman beside me—Debbie, maybe?—whispers through trembling lips, “We’re going to die… oh God, we’re going to die…”

I swallow hard. My throat feels like it’s closing. Gavin’s blood smell is starting to reach us—warm, metallic, wrong.

I should be crying. I should be shaking. I should be curled into a ball like the others.

But instead, all I can think is:

Stephen, the prick, has something he wants…

The gunman shouts in frustration from Stephen’s office, slamming a drawer so hard the glass wall rattles.

I take the tiniest breath I can manage.

There has to be something I can do. Something.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand.

My knees wobble. My heart tries to claw out of my throat. But I step forward anyway.

“W-wait,” I choke out, my voice embarrassingly high.

His head snaps toward me. The gun raises again. I instantly regret every decision that led to this moment.

“What?” he growls.

I lift my hands, palms out. “I—I can help.”

He laughs once, a sharp, humourless bark. “Help? You think I need help from you?”

“No,” I swallow, “I think you need help finding whatever you’re looking for. That… USB stick, right? I know this floor better than anyone. Stephen is—” My throat tightens. “Stephen is a slob. He hides things, loses things, forgets things. I have to clean up after him every day. If you show me what you’re looking for, I can find it faster.”

His eyes narrow, suspicious.

I push on before cowardice can drag me back into silence. “But only if you release the others. They’ll slow you down. They’re terrified. I’m terrified too, but I can… I can think. I can help. Let them go to the stairwell. Keep me instead.”

I don’t know where the words come from. Maybe from the sight of Gavin lying motionless on the carpet. Maybe from the way my colleagues are staring at me—like I’m either insane or their last lifeline.

The gunman steps toward me, slow and deliberate. My vision blurs at the edges. My hands shake harder.

He gets close enough for me to smell gunpowder on his clothes.

“You?” he mutters. “You’d stay behind alone… just to help them?”

I nod. Or maybe I just tremble in a way that looks like a nod.

He studies me, expression unreadable. “If you’re lying to me,” he says quietly, “I’ll shoot you first.”

My stomach flips. “I’m not lying.”

He gestures with the gun toward the remaining hostages. “Fine. You three—move to the stairwell. Try anything, and she dies before you hit the first step.”

They hesitate only a second before scrambling away, sobbing with relief.

And then the room is suddenly silent again.

Just me.

And him.

His shadow stretches across the carpet toward me.

“Alright,” he mutters, turning back to Stephen’s ransacked office. “You want to be helpful? Get in here. We’re finding that stick.”

I take a breath that doesn’t feel like enough air, then step inside after him.

My legs feel like water. My pulse is a drum in my ears.

But I did it.

I actually did it.

And I have no idea how much danger I’ve just put myself in.

He gestures with the gun. “Move.”

I step carefully into Stephen’s office, pretending to examine the chaos on the desk while my mind races. If Stephen hid a USB stick, it wouldn’t be obvious. Not in drawers. He’d probably tuck it somewhere stupid and self-important—inside a framed award, behind a wall panel, maybe even taped under the desk.

The gunman flips the filing cabinet and snarls. “He wouldn’t leave without it. It’s here somewhere.”

“Maybe,” I say calmly, “he hid it somewhere he didn’t think anyone would look.”

Before he can respond, the lights flicker.

A soft pop—echoes from somewhere outside the office. The gunman tenses instantly, whipping toward the doorway.

The gunman curses under his breath. “They’re breaching already—dammit—”

A shadow steps forward into view.

A man in full tactical gear.

Black vest. Massive gun. Belt full of other weapons. And a horrible skull face mask.

“SAS” printed across his chest with a British flag.

And he was tall. Ridiculously tall—at least 6’4.

He moves like smoke. Controlled. Predatory.

The gunman fires first.

The shot rings in my skull as plaster explodes from the doorframe. The masked man lunges sideways, rolling behind the desk with fluid precision. He doesn’t return fire—not yet. He’s assessing, calculating.

Then his voice cuts through the chaos—deep, steady, lethal calm.

“Get down.”

Me. He’s talking to me.

I drop just as another shot cracks overhead. The gunman swears and grabs me by the arm, jerking me upright to use me as a shield—

But the tall SAS man is faster.

He emerges from cover in a blur, grabbing the gunman’s wrist and forcing the muzzle up. The gun fires into the ceiling as the two struggle, the masked man twisting with brutal precision to disarm him.

For a second, it looks like he’ll win easily.

But the gunman, desperate, slams his elbow back—hard. The masked man grunts, staggering. The second hit drives into his ribs with a sickening crack.

He falters.

“No—!” I don’t even think. I shove the closest object (a stapler) into the gunman’s back, throwing off his aim as he swings the gun toward the soldier’s head.

The gun goes off.

The masked man jerks—hit in the shoulder. Blood stains the tactical fabric instantly.

But he recovers, even wounded, and rips the gun from the attacker’s hands. The weapon clatters across the floor.

The gunman flees out the shattered window frame into the next office space, disappearing into the smoke-filled corridor.

For a moment, all I hear is the ringing in my ears.

The tall man turns to me, breath steady despite the blood trailing down his arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

His voice is gravel wrapped in velvet. Controlled. Concerned.

I stare into his dark eyes. He’s a stranger. A terrifying one.

And yet… something about him radiates steadiness. Like he’s built entirely for moments like this.

“Who… who are you?” I whisper.

He checks the hallway, weapon raised, before answering.

“SAS. Here to help.” he answers, glancing at the door.

*Kyle’s POV*

As soon as we board the helicopter, two nurses take over. She’s whisked away from Simon and laid on the floor. Fear flashes through her eyes. God she looks terrified. One of the nurses produce a large syringe, and before any of us have chance to stop them, they’ve sedated her. The last noise she makes is a scared whimper, before she just goes completely limp.

Simon tenses beside me, and I can tell Johnny is struggling not to intervene. I’m the level headed one, and even I can feel the Alpha inside of me trying to force itself to the surface. I turn away from the scene in front of me. It is too much to watch. Not after what she’d been through.

Johnny tries to pull Simon away but he is met with a malicious sounding snarl, so he steps back and joins me on the seats. I close my eyes and try to relax. Calm myself down. I allow the thrum of the helicopter blades to seep into my brain, blocking everything else. I could smell her scent slowly returning having removed the patches. Silly girl shouldn’t have put them on in the first place …

My thoughts are interrupted by Johnny.

“Why’d you think she ran..?”

“I don’t know. We’ll need to talk to her when she comes round from this…”

“D’ya think she still wants to be with us..?”

“I don’t know. You heard Laswell…”

“Aye, but what the fuck happened to her. Look at the state the wee lassies in. How’d she get so banged up if she was just planning to leave..?”

“Johnny.. look.. none of us have a crystal ball. We’ll need to talk to her…” I sigh, trying not to think of the possibility that she actually wanted to run away from us.

*Laika’s POV*

I feel light, and warm. I can smell Simon’s thick scent. It’s right next to my face. I’m lying on a soft bed..

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyes aren’t really to open just yet. I feel drowsy and heavy. I manage to roll my head towards the scent and am met with soft fabric. My Omega purrs.

“-woken up yet..” I pick up from the tail end of a conversation. My brain still not fully computing everything happening around me.

I’m snapped back into reality when I hear that gruff voice.

“Silly silly girl.”

If my brain would have allowed it, a broken whine would have slipped from my throat. The Pack Alpha thinks I’m stupid. He probably wishes I’d just ran away for good. That’s what I get for thinking anyone could possibly care about me in the same way I care about them.

I roll my head away from the comforting scent of whatever it was next to me that smelt of Simon. I don’t deserve the comfort from an Alpha who doesn’t want me. Useless, broken, worthless mutt.

*John’s POV*

I go straight to her bedside. She looks awful. Worse than awful. Broken.

The nurses have cleaned her up somewhat. But wipes don’t do the same job that a good soak in a warm bath would do. She’s coated in a layer of smudged dust and blood.

Her shoulder is wrapped in rolls and rolls of bandages and gauze. The doctor tells me that she had been shot. Concussed. Fragile.

She’s been moving slightly in her unconscious state. The doctor tells me that the sedation will be leaving her system. He tells me that it’s basically up to her when she decides to wake up. But he warns me that she may turn feral again. She may have temporary memory gaps from her concussion, and the added trauma of going feral. I notice her roll her head towards Simon’s coat.

Good girl. She remembers her Alpha’s scent. That’s a good sign.

The doctor rambles on about how they had to sedate her on the journey home because she was feral. And how she didn’t properly give in to the sedation until Simon placed his jacket next to her. She had been seeking comfort. Comfort from her Alphas. Clever girl.

The doctor tells me how she resisted the police, meaning her shoulder, already damaged, has ended up even more mangled than the original injury.

I tut, in disbelief of what she’s gone through, and grumble “silly silly girl” aloud, into the room. If she’d have just stayed with Simon, none of this would have happened.

Or, perhaps, if Simon and I hadn’t have had that dick measuring contest a couple of days ago, that resulted in her getting caught in the crossfire of Alpha testosterone, none of this would have ever happened.

As I tut those words out into her room, she whimpers. Her face scrunches up, as if she is pained. I rush to her side, gently grasping her small hand in mine. She rolls her head away from the coat sitting up by her pillow.

I can’t wait for her to wake up. I need to apologise and atone. She needs to realise she is here to stay. That she is our Omega.

*Laika’s POV*

My hand is suddenly enclosed in another. I can hear John murmuring to himself. I use all of my energy to open my eyes. I grimace with the effort. I try to pull my hand away. I don’t want him feeling as though he needs to comfort me. I’m just a stupid omega, after all. Ruining everything as per usual.

He lets go when he realises I’m trying to pull away.

“Hey, you’re awake.. you’re ok.. the boys, they found you.. you’ve had surgery on your shoulder.. you’ll recover.. just need to take it real easy for a few weeks…” he speaks. My eyes are fixed on his fingers splaying on the bed, millimetres from my own, but never touching.

“I’m sorr-” my voice breaks due to the dryness of my throat. A few swallows of saliva and a good couple of coughs later, I’m ready to try and talk again. I keep my eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact with the Captain.

“I’m sorry. I - I’ll leave as soon as I’m able. I-I..”

“-who said anything about leav- wait..? Were you trying to run from us..?” He turns away slightly, clearly disappointed. Muttering something about Laswell being right about me.

My eyes shift with confusion. What the fuck does he mean by that?!

My scent obviously turns sour, he thinks his quick sniffle is subtle, but it’s not. He immediately back pedals.

“Is it me..? Is it.. do you want me to send Johnny? Kyle. Yeah, Kyle’s always been softer with you. I can call Kyle in until you feel a bit more awake, yeah?”

What the fuck does he mean? I’m perfectly coherent, yeah I’m a little drowsy, and nauseous, but my brain is fine..?!

I shake my head.

“No.. I don’t think - I - I’d rather be alone..” I stutter, knowing that I’m slowly sealing my fate.

It’s for their own good I tell myself. I deny myself the temporary comfort of having them near me. They don’t want me, anyway. It’s just my own stupid feelings prolonging everyone’s suffering.

Detach. Let go. Release them. Stupid mutt, letting yourself go and believe that you could belong.

John pauses, clearly not sure how to react.

His eyes widen, when I stubbornly sit up, albeit weakly, and hand the fabric that held Simon’s comforting scent. He’d left me his coat my omega feels fleeting joy, which is quickly stamped out. I’m in the drivers seat now. Not the omega. Me.

“You.. you should go. I’ll - I’ll be ok on my own” I whisper, looking away. He stares at me, shocked.

He turns away, as if he had lead on his feet. I finally let the tears fall, now his back is turned. The soft click of the door closing behind him marks the end of this. Whatever this was…

*Simon’s POV*

John had sent Johnny, Kyle and I back to our quarters. We’d sat outside her room for hours, still covered in her blood. Still stinking of the mission. Still reeking of distressed omega.

It’s his scent that hits me first. The joys of having the sensitive nose.

His head is hung low. He is emitting a foul smell. He’d never looked, or smelt, like this before.

A pit forms in my stomach and throat.

“…John?” I ask the unspoken question.

“- she, she - she rejected me. Us.”

No no no no… no she didn’t, she couldn’t!

Johnny and Kyle immediately start squabbling from behind me.

“Naw she Cannae have done. She’s no thinking straight. Still high on meds… that cannae be right. I’ll go talk to her..”

“-Johnny. She doesn’t want to see us.”

“I could go?” Kyle offers “I’ve always gotten through to her best..?”

“Kyle.. she made it clear.” John shuts him down.

He holds up my coat. The coat I had scented. Absolutely covered it in my scent, before tucking it under her head. She calmed down immediately. Why doesn’t she want it now?

The pack sit in absolute silence for the next few hours. Not a word is spoken. Nobody moves.

The silence is broken by a phone vibrating.

John huffs a dull laugh. “Laswell” he grunts, and declines the call.

A few seconds later it starts buzzing again.

“You should take that” I speak.

“Why would I want to chat to her right now? Eh? So she can tell us she was right? That the omega was running from us all along? Because of me? Because I let my Alpha feel challenged by a member of my own fuckin’ pack? No thank you, Lieutenant.”

I snatch his phone from the table, answering it sharply.

“Laswell, what do you want?” I bark down the line.

“Simon, it’s nice to talk to you, too” she says back sarcastically.

“I’m not in a joking mood, get on with it, or I’ll hang up”

“Are you ever in a joking mood? - anyway - It’s about your omega. We’ve combed through the building in Chicago. We have found something that may be of use to you.”

“S’too late. The Omega. Basically told John, and by extension: us, to fuck off, so whatever you have, it don’t matter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re going through a rough patch. But it’s her bandana fabric thing. It was found in the rubble at the site of the blast on the 51st floor. We’ve sealed it and sent it first class. Should be with you by morning. I’d try to work things out with her. She’s worth the effort.”

And with that, she hangs up.

I slam John’s phone down on the table.

“Her hanky? How -” Johnny starts but I cut him off.

“She went to help. She went to help her Alphas, and we just left her to fend for herself. How the fuck didn’t you notice her.. she damn well got herself shot and blown up, and we left her in the rubble?” I rage.

“It wis you who dinnae even notice her sneak away in the first place, Simon. Don’t forget that…”

“Wait.. Simon. Remember you radioed to me, when I was holed up on the stair well waiting for Hassan? You said there was someone coming up?”

I nod, remembering. “Do you think..?”

“But how did she get to the site of the explosion. Hassan was about to shoot me execution style before that marine tackle-”

“Shit. SHIT”

“It wasn’t the Marine who hit Hassan.” Kyle says matter of factly.

“I couldn’t see. Because of all the dust and debris. And she had those scent patches on. Fuck. FUCK. I should have known..” he goes on.

“Kyle, this isn’t your fault” John tries to comfort.

“You’re tellin’ me.. that that wee lassie ran all the way doon from LT’s perch on the top floor of the building opposite, across the street, and all the way up to us, AND managed to save Cap just before he took a bullet between the eyes?” Johnny summarises.

“We need to see her” I conclude.

We all stand at once and march toward the medical wing.

*Laika’s POV*

I smell and hear them before I see them.

Oh no. Please not again.

I rapidly wipe away my tears, knowing that the puffiness and tear tracks won’t disappear so easily.

A knock sounds on the door. I stay quiet. Then I hear the nurse from outside telling them that I’d asked for no visitors.

“I’m sorry, Sir’s. She asked to be left alone for the next few days. Only staff are allowed beyond these doors” the nurse politely explains.

A soft scent flows into the room from under the door. I immediately recognise it as Kyle’s scent, when he concentrates it to calm me down. Sneaky bastard.

“We are her Pack.. you need to let us in.” I overhear Simon grunt, annoyed.

“Oh, Uhm.. sorry Sir’s. I hadn’t been informed that she was mated, or part of a pack. If you’d wait here while I go and check her documentation..” she excuses herself, I hear hurried retreating footsteps from outside my door.

Kyle’s calming scent continues to seep its way into my brain. My omega is crying out to be allowed some comfort.

“We know you know we’re here..” Johnny whisper-yells from behind the door.

I feel my cheeks heat. I gulp.

“Could you let us in, Bonnie.. please..? Just want to talk..” he pleads with me.

My eyes flash from left to right, weighing up my options. I can’t say no to them. My stupid omega just can’t say fucking NO to them.

I find myself nodding. Then mentally slapping myself around the face, realising they can’t see through doors.

“Ok” I consent, barely loudly enough for them to hear.

Johnny is first in. He rushes over and grabs my hands, hurriedly but gently patting me down, searching for all the bruises and blemishes left on my skin.

“Oh Bonnie, there ye are.. awkt, we’ll get you cleaned up in no time, eh? Clever wee thing you are..” he slides his thumb over my chin, and kisses the crown of my head, so tenderly, that it breaks me.

I preen at the praise, trying not to purr.

“What happened back there, huh? You threw pack Alpha out..? Scared us, lass. Really scared us..”

Scared them? Why..?

“Didn’t want me.. not pack..” my chin wobbles, trying not to sob. “I - I didn’t mean it… such a stupid burden useless mutt.” I sniffle, letting my anxieties pour out.

Johnny leans in and presses another kiss to my head, before softly lifting my hands and kissing all of my knuckles.

“That’s just not true. Not true at all. Not a single word of it..” he whispers.

Kyle steps in, then, and I bathe in his calming scent, still enveloping me, holding me together at the seems.

“You’re too clever for your own good, you know that, right, little bug?” He smiles gently at me, stroking my dirty hair away from my face.

“So beautiful, too” he says, making my cheeks heat.

“Think we wouldn’t find out that you saved pack Alpha’s life, huh? And those damn scent patches… they stopped us from finding you. I should have known, baby. I’m sorry. Forgive me..”

Kyle’s thumb gently swipes where the scent patches had been, causing a little whimper to rise from my throat, the sensitive skin feeling overwhelmed at the Alpha’s attention.

“I - I don’t blame you…” I breathe, looking at Kyle.

“It’s my fault-” John steps forward, hanging his head in shame but before he can quite finish his sentence I cut him off “I don’t blame any of you.. just myself..”

“No. No no - it’s not anything to do with you, love. Nothing is your fault. Nothing. You hear me?” John argues.

Simon steps forward then, looming over the others like a tall shadow.

“You’ve caused quite a stir here, Omega.” He states. I shrink back further into my bed, ashamed for a split moment.

“Don’t do that. Hide away as if you’re scared of us. We would never hurt you. Could never be angry at you. Look at you. You’ve saved us.”

My eyes blink away the heavy, fat tears forming.

Saved them? Maybe I’m not the only one who’s had a knock to the head..

“You’re part of this now. Part of us. If you’ll take us…?” John hesitates, extending the olive branch.

“I - I don’t want to be a burden..”

“Awkt enough of that, lassie..” Johnny cuts in, nuzzling his face against my un-injured shoulder, desperate for touch. His scent wraps around me like flames.

“You all want me to stay..?” I ask, confused

There is a chorus of agreement in the small room.

My tears fall loose, and Kyle is there to wipe them away.

“Is that a yes, bug?” He whispers into my hair.

I nod, sniffing away my tears and snot.

As I nod, I’m bombarded by the heady scent of the four Alphas. Pure relief and happiness wafts through the room. My omega is jumping up and down with joy.

—————— Timeskip (1 week) ————————

I’d finally been discharged. It felt weird getting to walk beyond the halls of the infirmary. Of course, the Alphas of task force 141 followed my every step. They’d visited every day, for hours at a time, and I was rarely left alone for the duration of my stay. They were trying their best to make up for what had happened last week. I felt as though I was in a happier place. Mentally and physically.

Johnny was blabbing about what he had planned for the next few weeks.

“So this week, we’re gonna be takin’ it easy, but the nurse said you’d be up for more activity by next week so we thought we could-”

“Wait.. what? How long have you got on leave, Johnny..?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to get my hopes up.

“Not just me, hen.. John made sure to put all of us on leave for at least the next four weeks. Ain’t that right, Alpha?” He explains, practically buzzing.

My eyes fly to John, almost giving me whiplash..

“Really?!”

He smiles down at me, “yes, love. Needed to make sure you were settled and happy. Need to make up for the past couple of weeks..”

I squeal, excited, grabbing Johnny’s bicep and squeezing, bouncing up and down.

“Oi, calm down. Nurse said to take it easy!” Ghost barks, gently removing me from Johnny and escorting me by my good shoulder, back to our quarters.

“I feel better, Simon..” I whine, glancing back at him.

“You’re on a huge dose of painkillers, you don’t know if you feel better or not. Now take it easy..”

I grumble under my breath. Stupid Alpha.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s strike one..” he warns.

“You’re not funny..” I roll my eyes, pouting like a spoilt child.

“What makes you think I’m joking?”

We reach the kitchen and he sits me down on the sofa. Johnny and Kyle sit either side of me. I immediately adjust myself so I’m sprawled across Kyle’s lap, with my feet up on Johnny’s lap.

Johnny puts the TV on and flicks to a random documentary about animals and starts massaging my toes.

“Anyway, next week, I thought we could try and plan something to do away from base. As a pack..” Johnny continues his earlier conversation.

My heart leaps at the suggestion of being a pack, but my brain reminds me that they’ve not made a move to claim me yet, and I’ve only been properly intimate with Kyle.. just the thought of intimacy sends heat through my body.

I nuzzle into Kyle’s neck, inhaling his soft scent. He kisses my hair and tightens his hold of me ever so slightly, pleased to have his omega back in his arms. I chase the warm feeling, shuffling closer and closer, practically straddling him, pushing my nose further into his scent glands. Then I feel him tense up, I whine, upset, pulling away and looking at him with sad eyes.

“I- I’m doing something wrong..?” I ask, pained.

“No. No not at all, love. But you’re still hurt. You need to be careful. Just don’t want to hurt you..”

“Aye lass, nurses said no strenuous activity” Johnny chips in, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily.

“Was just cuddling…” I whine

“You were about to start more than cuddling, Omega..and you know it” Simon adds, from behind me.

I whip around, angrily, and point an accusatory finger at Simon.

“You’re just a kill joy. You don’t like me being happy..” I accuse, perhaps a bit harshly, but I was upset that he kept ruining my happiness.

Simon looks a bit put out by my comment, and steps back slightly, probably shocked that I’d been so harsh.

John steps forward from his place at the kettle.

“Sweet girl, that’s no way to talk to pack, is it? Apologise to Simon. He just wants you to get better..”

I furrow my brow, standing wobbly from my place on Kyle’s lap. “I’m not pack, and I’m not sorry. He’s being mean..”

I turn and leave the kitchen, heading back to my own room. I’d not been in my nest for a few weeks.

*Kyle’s POV*

I know a pent up omega when I see one. She’s desperate for touch and attention. Absolutely desperate.

She blows a gasket when Simon interrupts our little cuddle session. It had been quickly escalating into something more, she’d been neglected for too long..

And then the poor thing hobbles away, in a mood, probably back to her nest. I want to go after her. Calm her down. Make her happy.

I wait for her door to slam shut before speaking to the rest of the pack.

“She needs her Alphas. Her pack… she’s pent up..”

“And hurt, Garrick. And mentally exhausted from the last few weeks. She needs time.”

“I don’t see the issue with letting her set the pace..” I argue.

“Aye, I’m with Kyle, let her decide.” Johnny agrees.

“Boys” John prowls over,

“Just give it a few days. Please. Just don’t cross that line. Not until I give you the go ahead. That’s an order. Simon’s right. She needs time. Time to heal. Mentally and physically. Poor omega’s been through the mill. Remember she hasn’t even properly presented yet. Or shown any signs of her first heat. We need to back off until she’s ready…”

I drop my argumentative gave as the pack Alpha tells us the ground rules. I’m slightly disappointed but I cannot argue back.

“Kyle, look at me” he sighs, gentler than before.

I glance up.

“Go to her - Johnny, you too - hang out, be near her, even cuddle. I’m not disallowing that. You just can’t escalate anything, she’s only been with Kyle so far, and remember how she reacted afterwards. She panicked. We need to make sure she’s ready for us. As a pack.. understood?”

“Yes, Alpha” I reply, and from the corner of my eye, I see Johnny nodding.

“Go make sure she’s ok then” John nods his head in the direction of her room and I jump to my feet and speed off down the hall with Johnny.

*Laika’s POV*

Three knocks on the door break me out from my thoughts.

I’ve been sitting in my best in the cupboard for a few minutes, reorganising my blankets and throws, and scented items, trying to make it comfortable again. My brain had been playing on a constant loop since storming out of the kitchen.

Not good enough for them. Knew this would happen. Simon doesn’t want me near his pack mates. Simon doesn’t like me. Kyle is just being nice. John thinks I’m stupid.

“Bug..? It’s us.. can we come in..?” I hear Kyle from through both doors.

I stand and open the cupboard, walking towards the bedroom door. I inhale, trying to figure out who the ‘us’ Kyle referred to was. Probably Johnny. I confirm my suspicions with his scent slowly making itself known.

I slowly open the door and peak up at them.

“You angry at me..?” I ask, sadly.

“Oh Bonnie, c’mon, let us in and we’ll make it all better” Johnny practically shoves through the door and picks me up off of my feet suddenly.

I yelp and grab hold of him, conscious of my wrapped up shoulder wound.

“Johnny!” I gasp, wrapping my arms and legs around him for stability.

“Soap!” Kyle warns, “you heard what John told us…”

“Awkt, just stop actin’ weird around her. We’re just push in’ her away. Ain’t that right, sweet lassie?”he replies to Kyle, cheekily nuzzling his nose into my scent glands.

I feel giggles bubbling from my throat and the burden on my inner voice suddenly silences itself.

“Missed you, Johnny” I laugh, cuddling him closer. He moves us both towards my nest, stopping before entering to make sure I was ok with him being in my nest. I nod my head, smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

Kyle watches on from the middle of the main bedroom. I see a hesitant smile reach his lips.

He turns away and for a second I think he’s leaving. I release a loud whine and am about to plead with him to stay but he quickly closes the door to my room and turns back to face me.

“Shush, love. Was just shutting the door so the two killjoys wouldn’t catch us in your nest” he laughs.

“Come cudddddlllleee” I whine, making grabby hands at him past Johnny’s back.

“I don’t know if we’ll all fit in your little nest.”

“Jus’ do as the little lassie says, Garrick. She needs her Alpha’s. Ain’t that right?”

I nod my head enthusiastically, delighted that I’m finally getting some much needed attention from them.

Kyle squeezes in behind me, cautious of my shoulder. He pecks me on my head, and tells me how sweet I am. I’m basking in all the attention and feel purrs slipping past my lips.

“John and Si will come around soon, don’t worry..”

“Don’t they want me anymore..” I ask shyly,

“No, lass. They think you’ll break. Told us to be gentle and let you rest. Think Si wants to wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you at arms length for the rest of your life..”

“Simon’s being mean. He doesn’t like me..”

“That’s not true…” - “yeah it is”

Johnny and Kyle stay in my nest and we continue to cuddle and scent together for a while. I start to feel a little better after their constant promises that Simon and John aren’t mad at me and that they still want me. I feel a little more reassured.

“I - I have a question..?”

“What is it ‘mega..?”

“When I.. when I had my scent patches on… did you notice..? Because I mainly put them on because Simon has always said I stink… but you two and John never seemed too bothered by my scent. Or… lack of scent… I guess…”

“It’s not that we weren’t bothered by your scent, love..” Kyle starts. “-it’s damn near addicting once we get a whiff of it, Bonnie”

“You just had a very subtle scent. It slowly started to get thicker, ever so slightly, but I guess we didn’t notice as much with the scent patches because we weren’t with you.. you went off with Simon, remember… but.. when we found you on the street, surrounded by those cops and you’d gone feral… when the scent patches were taken off, your scent is stronger than ever… hit me like a fuckin’ train…”

“S’stronger..?” I ask, shyly..

“Yeah. Stunk of distressed Omega at first.. thought it wis’ just cos you went feral… thought it’d go back to like is wis before but it hasnae. Smell as sweet as a cherry pie, little lass.”

Johnny makes his point clear when he presses his nose into my scent glands and groans appreciatively. “Oi Johnny.. don’t be greedy!” Kyle laughs jealously.

I giggle but present my neck to Kyle to allow him some space to enjoy my new found scent.

“Love..” he growls lowly .. “you can’t just present your neck to an Alpha like that.. fuck”

He clearly struggles to restrain himself from jumping at me there and then.

“Aye lass, walking a wobbly tightrope doin’ that in front of us, ya little minx you…” Johnny grumbles from behind.

“You both like my scent..?” I look for reassurance.

“Can’t get enough of it” Johnny mumbles.

“Sweet as I dreamt of..” Kyle sighs.

I smile, bashfully, at both the Alphas, pulling them both down to lay with me in my nest.

Johnny ends up being the big spoon, tucking himself tightly behind me, and Kyle faces me, cuddling me face to face. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and wind my legs with Johnny’s, purring happily.

How could she have slipped away without me noticing?! Why did I let this happen?! She’s gone…

I sling the sniper rifle to the side, not bothering to pack it away. It’s not important right now. The elevator is right down on the bottom floor so I waste precious seconds waiting for it to return. Still quicker than using the stairs from the top of a fuckin’ sky rise.

I’d already alerted the pack Alpha, and I know that the two sergeants would have heard my voice over the comms as well. This has turned into a massive shit show.

Laswell’s voice comes over the radio then.

“No visuals on Laika. Simon, any idea how long she’s been missing from your post?” -

“No. She crept out. Could have been anytime. I was watching the scope the entire time”

“God, Simon..” John rumbles disapprovingly through comms. It makes my stomach lurch.

The last time John and I ‘spoke’ we were about to have a fist fight over the Omega we wanted to claim and make a member of our pack.. And now she’s gone. And I am to blame.

“Kate - I’ll find my weapon and then search for the omega.. I’ll need medical once we’ve got her. Broke a couple of ribs, I reckon..” John’s breathier-than-usual voice rasps through my earpiece.

“Solid copy. Let me know immediately of any sightings. We can’t let her disappear”.

*Laika’s POV*

I see black. My head thumps and my shoulder aches. It’s warm, but stiff. Something’s wrong.

I still can’t will my body to follow my consciousness, my eyes won’t open, my voice - silent. I can hear John rumbling from across the hall, and I hear him moving slowly from his position over the hall. He sounds winded and short of breath.

“Shit. My gun” he groans to himself “- and my fuckin’ hat”

He sounds close now. So close. I know that I can’t be too far from the blast site, as I tackled Hassan right in front of the doors. I hear his heavy boot hit flesh, as he rolls and moves the two dead guards and the dead marine in an attempt to try and locate his gun and his stupid bucket hat. I hope he rolls me over and realises that I’m right here.

No such luck. It’s at this moment, I really start to regret my decision to wear scent patches. He doesn’t know I’m here. He obviously finds his gun and hat, as he checks his remaining ammo and I hear fading, uneven footsteps. He must be leaving. I wish I could move. I wish I could call out to him. I try to force my brain to force a movement, but all it does is send more pain to my shoulder. I feel the tiniest whimper escape from my throat. Good. I must be coming round.

*Johnny’s POV - a couple of hours later*

Kyle and I manage to wrap up the objective, with a little help from Simon and a well timed head shot on Hassan. The missiles were redirected and detonated safely. But I felt no pride. No relief. She’d gone. She’d left us. Just upped and left while Simon had his back turned...

We’d all stayed at the facility for ages, searching for her. But she’d gone. At least we hadn’t found a body… I guess that’s one small positive from this situation.

John debriefs with Laswell and re-tells the mission and how he has a bit of a close shave when Hassan had him on his knees, about to shoot him point blank range from behind just after that explosion knocked us both out. Thankfully Kyle managed to drag us away but the poor marine that tackled Hassan just as he pulled the trigger on Price wasn’t so lucky, poor bastard.

Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark. Electricity is expected to be restored by this evening.

We land at a shady bar in Chicago with Laswell.

She sits at the bar watching the news as Price brings two glasses of alcohol for him and Laswell.

“What’s the plan on locating Laika. We need to find her. She’s not just vanished. Surely someone saw something.”

“-John, I’m sorry to be negative, but she very obviously left on her own terms. Perhaps she will return once she has cooled off. I noticed the atmosphere was a little bit tense on the helicopter ride in. Look - I’m not in the best place to theorise what went down, but I’m assuming there was a disagreement? She may have left, John. She never liked conflict. You’ve all read her files. She’s a flight risk. One upset suspected-Omega, coming off suppressants for the first time, unbonded but glued to a pack of Alpha’s who are yet to claim her… I reckon she’s ran… she needs time…”

-“we don’t have time, Kate.. what if -”

“She’s smart”

“They’re after her. You know as well as anybody…”

-“and if she wants to go back, she will. John. It’s out of my hands. She has the ball in her court.”

My brows furrow and my stomach lurches. I can’t just listen to this absolute pile of piss. There’s no way…

“Naw. That’s Bullshit, Laswell -”

I’m shouting before I even realise I’ve stood up and interrupted their conversation.

“Sergeant…” she warns me with a raised eyebrow.

“Naw, she was with me and Kyle before we left for this. Perfectly fine. She was happy. She widnae’ just have left us. They’re no fuckin’ way. Kyle..? Tell her!”

I motion Kyle over to the bar.

“It’s true, Kate. She was acting normally this morning. It was just the Captain and Lieutenant who she was pissed off at. But she wanted to prove a point. Not run off. We went shopping. Had lunch.. nothing would have suggested she was planning to run off..”

“Sergeants, look. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t have any leads or suggestions. Of course, I’ll keep my ear to the ground. It’s in all of our best interests to find her and return her to the pack, but my best advice is to let her make her own decision. That’s the end of the matter. I’m sorry it’s not what you want to hear.”

“Now. About Iran…” Laswell turns back to Price, clearly suggesting that me and Kyle butt out of their private conversation.

I can smell the anger and frustration in Price’s scent, and I know that my own scent is sour and thick.

I grab Kyle and Simon and leave the bar.

“She cannae be serious” I shout once we are out on the street. I kick a rubbish bin and growl, angrily. I want to punch someone. Or something.

“Johnny-”

“Don’t even fuckin think about tellin’ me to calm down, LT” I growl back, before he has chance to finish his sentence.

“Kyle, have you got your phone on you? Mine got busted in the blast”

“Uhm-” Kyle pats his pockets and pulls out his phone, placing it in my palm.

“What.. you goin’ to just call her and ask her to come back.. think that’ll work do ya’?” Simon teases, sharply.

“I dinnae see you comin’ up with any better ideas. And it was you who fuckin’ lost her” I growl, ready to punch him.

“Guys.. this isn’t helping. Is it?” Kyle tries to calm us down.

I press her name on Kyle’s phone and the line just goes dead immediately.

“FUCK” -

*Laika’s POV*

I eventually woke up. Cold, and stiff. And stuck. Stuck under a body.

It takes me a few attempts to get the dead man off of me, especially with my shoulder being completely unusable. I’m covered in blood and dust, obviously from the dead guy I’d been unknowingly using as a flesh blanket.

I stagger to my feet, feeling dizzy, and weak.

I hear voices. They sound American. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so I decide to keep myself hidden. I manage to eventually find the exit, without alerting any of the others in the huge high-rise building. I don’t know what time it is, and my phone is broken.

When I get to the ground floor, there is what looks like an ocean of body bags. That is what those people must be doing. The clean-up crew. It’ll probably look like nothing ever happened here by tomorrow morning. In and out. No one gets hurt. Hah. Yeah right.

I stumble my way into the dark night. Still feeling totally drowsy and nauseous. I must have taken a hard hit to the head. I feel warm and cold all over. I really need help. I check my phone again, as if it might miraculously un-smash itself. I long to see one of the Alpha’s name on the screen. But I’m alone. In Chicago. Just limping down a random street in Chicago. Covered in blood.

I jolt when I hear a shocked voice.

“Holy shit, lady. What the fuck?! I’m callin’ the cops” - wait what?

Oh no, a civilian has seen me.

“Oh. No no no that won’t be necessary, sir… I’m fine!” I try and smile, holding my hands forward in a placating manner.

“You crazy-ass bitch walking about like that. Stay back!!”

I shake my head.. “no.. no, please!”

“Yeah - 911? Uhm, there’s a woman walking about covered in blood. Looks like she’s been blown up, good lord.. she’s carrying a gun..”

I gulp, and tremble. I don’t know what to do. I can’t run. Not in my condition. I can’t argue with this civilian, he’s clearly distressed by my appearance. Surely I don’t look that bad, right..?”

“I-I’ll wait.. I won’t run..” I plead, hoping to calm the guy down. He can’t cause any more of a scene if he tried. I see curious passer-bys start to look.

I try to stay close to the walls, in the shadows.

That’s when I hear the distant sirens. A couple of minutes later I see the blue lights flashing off of the night sky, and nearby buildings. I kneel on the ground, praying that the police would be kind enough to just listen. And maybe they’d even let me borrow a phone..

Shit! SHIT.

Four cars screech to a halt in quick succession and I can hear a helicopter from above and then I see that I’ve been lit up in a huge search light, by said helicopter. What the fuck is going on?!?

“ARMED POLICE, LAY YOUR WEAPON DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD” a voice yells over the megaphone.

I whimper, terrified. I can feel my omega clawing to come out. No. NO. This can’t happen now. You can’t go fucking feral now you stupid mutt.

I slide my gun away from myself, and then reach into my tac-vest and throw a knife to the ground. It clatters sharply against the road.

I try to place my hands behind my head as instructed, but that damn shoulder of mine doesn’t play ball.

One arm is up. The other is - well - limp to my side.

“I SAID BOTH HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD”

I shake my head, trying my best. Tears flow freely down my face, my body racked with my harsh sobs. “I can’t” I whisper, pained. Weak.

“WHY AREN’T YOU COMPLYING. ALL UNITS, ARMED AND DANGEROUS - I REPEAT. ARMED AND DANGEROUS.”

All of a sudden I’m rushed by a team of about 8 Alpha officers and one of them grabs both my arms, wrenching them both behind my back as they hand cuff me, tightly.

I wail. My shoulder feels like it’s on fire. It feels as though it’s getting cut off. I’d never felt pain like it. I scream, and thrash. And my omega turns feral. I growl and scream, kicking officers away from me as I fight the pain. The Alpha’s causing me pain. I try to run away. Run away from my shoulder. The pain.

They tase me. I fall to the ground, face first, no arms to break my fall. Of course it’s my shoulder and face that takes the fall. My omega decides it’s time for her to take the drivers seat, now. Everything goes black. I’m like a passenger in my own body. I can hear everything. And some of the sounds are coming from me. Ok, maybe not some. Maybe the majority.

*Simon’s POV*

I am on a short fuse. One wrong move and I’ll kill someone. I blame myself for this. For the tension in my pack. Johnny would shoot me if he could. I am not helping myself either. It’s not easy when I get like this. I withdraw from the situation. Pretend to be cold and unattached.

In reality, I would kill every last person that stood between my pack and her. Every last one. If it meant she’d be safe, back where she belongs, hell the whole fuckin’ world could burn for all he cares.

I feel hopeless. Utterly hopeless. I consider walking to the Chicago bridge and throwing myself off. But that wouldn’t bring her back. So I don’t. I just throw snarky comments at Johnny instead.

I feel a pit of guilt in my stomach. He’s just trying to help find her. But it’s useless. She probably left because of me. Probably decided the Russian bastards were better than us. Probably decided that she didn’t want us anymo-

AGGHHHHHH

My blood runs cold. The Alphas walking beside me freeze. A fleeting moment of eye contact between us all, and our feet are carrying us toward the blood curdling, pained scream.

Kyle’s the fastest. Because of course he is. Johnny is slower, but still faster than me. I can’t stand that I’ll be last there. I push myself faster. Faster than I’ve ever moved.

*Kyle’s POV*

My legs are moving before my brain has time to catch up.

It’s her. She’s screaming. But she’s alive. And close.

As I get closer, I see sirens and cops. Loads of cops. My alpha growls. And then I feel Johnny’s presence behind me.

“Laika? LAIKA?” He shouts into the sea of officers and police cars.

“ALPHA” she screams. Terrified.

“HELP. HELP ME.”

Johnny and I shove through the cops and civilians who had gathered to watch. If any of them got punched or knocked out. Well that was their own problem.

Then I finally see her.

She’s covered in dust and blood. How? She wasn’t -

Her eyes meet mine. Feral Omega eyes. Her face is scraped, her shoulder’s been torn through - looks like a bullet wound. She’s a mess.

“ALPHA..”

*Laika’s POV*

Alpha. Alpha’s here. He came for you. Sweet Alpha. He’s here.

I try to crawl towards the safety. But I’m roughly stopped by another officer. I hear a growl.

My other Alpha.

“Get your filthy fuckin’ hands off her, ya fuckin’ brutes. Cannae you see she’s fuckin’ hurt?!” Johnny yell at them .

“Alpha..” it’s all my omega can whine. It’s the only word my omega knows, it seems.

I crawl again, towards Kyle. My hands are still cuffed behind my back, so I’m pushing with my legs, scraping my shoulder along the stone.

Ass up, face down, so to speak…

Kyle surges towards me. He gathers me in his arms, gently. He cradles my face, like I’d break in his hands, and seep through his fingers like sand.

“Alpha..” I whine happily.

“Shhh baby. Shhh, it’s ok. It’s ok.. calm down. Come back to me baby. Y/n..?” He coaxes into my ear, trying to let the omega know she can leave now. Her job was done: survive.

“Which one of you cunts has the key.. before I fuckin’ detonate this whole fucking city” a voice bellows from behind Kyle’s back.

Simon.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE SCENE. THIS IS A POLICE ARREST!”

That does it. That’s the straw that breaks the camels back.

“I’m a fucking Lieutenant for her majesty’s SAS. And I’m HER fuckin Alpha. So hand me the fuckin keys, so that I can uncuff her, or I’ll call a fuckin air strike on your family’s home. And your mother’s home. And all of your friends’ homes”

A shaking hand reaches forward, presenting a key to Simon.

“Good fuckin’ choice. Now piss off. All of you” he growls, dangerously, squaring his shoulders to the entire crowd.

Meanwhile, the omega watches on. I am slowly emerging from my feral state, but that only brings my attention back to my current situation what with my shoulder, and new scrapes to my face. And the fact I was tased. And my concussion. And so on..

I slump against Kyle slightly, feeling pure relief. He continues to coo at me, and stroke me gently.

“Bonnie? You broken..? Shit baby, look at yer Alpha.. need tae see yer pretty eyes..” Johnny’s rich accent floods through my brain.

“Johnny..” I smile, using what was left of my strength to look up at him from Kyle’s hold.

“Mate, she’s not good. We need to get her seen to now” Kyle plans aloud, for Johnny to hear.

“Aye.. need to find a hospital”.

“NO, med-evac landing in 2 minutes” Simon barks, finally making it over to unlock the handcuffs from my wrists.

My arms swing forward, having been released from their position behind my back, causing me to yelp in pain again.

Then I feel as if I’ve been torn from Kyle and I’m suddenly being held, bridal style, by Simon. I whimper, my shoulder jostling against his rough coat.

My nose finds his scent glands. I press my nose firmly into his neck and breathe him from the source. He grumbles and coos, his Alpha instinctively trying to comfort the omega in his arms.

He goes to press his nose into my scent glands, and a growl - an angry growl - comes from the gigantic Alpha.

“Johnny. Take those fuckin’ scent patches off her NOW”

Oh. Oh..

“M’sorry Alpha. Didn’t mean to leave. Please don’t give me into trouble. I’m sorry…” I cry against his throat.

I feel gentle hands slowly peeling the scent patches from my neck. Then I feel his nose pressing into my neck, then his lips, just brushing the shell of my ear.

“Don’t you ever do that again. Ever. Y’hear me?”

“I- I’m sorry. Please don’t -”

“Scared us. Scared me..” he finally admits.

*Captain John Price’s POV*

“Iran.. that’s your next step, John. I’ll make a plan, but do expect to be deployed within the next couple of weeks”.

“Cartels... Russians...?” I enquire.

“Shepherd... Shadows... They got past us”

Fuckin’ Shepherd. I glare into my whiskey glass, angry.

“Any sign of Shepherd?” I ask.

“He’s totally off the grid” - “Well, we'll find him.”

“No, we've got bigger fish... I've done some digging on the Russians”.

“Well, that's a dirty job, Kate” I grumble.

“Ultra-nationalists ambushed that convoy, John.”

“Kate, this conversation is over. You know, especially with Laika involved, that this isn’t a job for us”.

“They were working with someone new.”

That piques my interest. Slightly.

“Who?” I can’t help but ask.

Laswell takes out a photo from her vest and gives it to me to look at. I take a good look at the photo.

Makarov.

Laswell’s phone rings. She excuses herself to answer the call, and stands from the bar, leaving me sitting, staring at his picture.

My fist thumps the bar, glasses rattling and drinks falling. I scrunch his picture into a ball and squeeze.

He will die for what he did. Mark my fuckin’ words.

The door to the bar slams and I hear rushed steps coming toward me.

I turn to see a panicked Laswell. She’s not easily rustled up like this.

“John. You’ve got to go. Your pack - they’ve found her-”

My chair is pushed back and I’m barging from the bar before she’s even told me where I’m headed. I ignore her, calling Kyle instead. He answers on the first ring.

“Kyle. Where is she? Is she ok?”

- “she’s not great, Cap. She’s Uhm - she’s broken. But she’s alive. We got med-evac for her. All of us are here with her. Just come home, John. We’ll be there..”

Kyle ends the call.