nikbrrr

[nikbrrr]

A series of digital drawings I did earlier this year about life and dreams of cattle-people, made them as guides for a batch of screen prints :-)

[nikbrrr]

i actually get a bit annoyed with people who get a bit annoyed when people say “sorry” in response to their bad news. “why are you apologizing you didn’t do anything :/” like okay well a) you don’t know that and actually yes i am the secret architect of all your woes and have been this whole time, way to refuse to acknowledge a woman (gender neutral)’s accomplishments. and b) we’re both fluent english speakers so you know perfectly well that “sorry” isn’t always an apology and is very commonly used as an expression of general regret or sympathy. not in this case, because i have been your secret nemesis for years, meticulously plotting your every misery, but, like, in general

[nikbrrr]

hate this guy but I love the scar😔🥀

[nikbrrr]

Adler voice: C'mon Bell, you always used to let me hold your dick while you pissed back in 'Nam.

[nikbrrr]

Been thinking about husband!Graves recently...

- Husband!Graves who you originally worked for as his secretary, as soon as he saw your sweet smile he decided right then and there that he would be the one to put a ring on your finger

- Husband!Graves that every single morning never fails (unless he's deployed) to embrace you flush against his chest and plant a kiss on your cheek making sure that you're awake first before asking if you want him to make you breakfast. He's not afraid to let you know he loves you, darling.

- Husband!Graves who insists that you put on your wedding dress again every anniversary of your wedding, and makes you sit on his lap sharing a beer while you watch the sun go over the horizon together. "Can't break tradition now, can we, sugar?"

- Husband!Graves who always falls asleep on your shoulder if you two watch a movie together late at night; his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you're sat on his lap. He insists he's just 'resting his eyes'. But you both know that's not true.

- Husband!Graves who has the eyesight of a 50 year old man, but suspiciously only at home. Always beckons you over, his reading glasses perched on his nose, asking you to read something for him. You think it's just an excuse for him to rely on you for a change, but you don't mind, in fact it feels nice, different.

- Husband!Graves who loves spoiling you, to him it's more than just another way for him to dote on you, it's how he shows his love for you in physical form. You been wanting a new designer bag? Done. Out of your expensive perfume? Already in your bedroom. Can you really blame him for wanting to spend his hard earned money on his sweet and caring wife?

[nikbrrr]

[nikbrrr]

john price and the belgian malnois!hybrid who refuses to listen to anyone but him about ANYTHING.

like, gives johnny a side eye when he suggests that they should go eat, scowls at simon when he tells them to get dressed because it’s time to go on their next recon. kyle has realized that it’s smarter to offer things, or just coincidentally bring them up instead.

she’s even worse in the mornings- sometimes just flat out refuses to get out of bed. she has her own room, but it’s bare, and the few belongings she brought have slowly integrated into prices room along with her.

it’s one of the mornings where she won’t get up. as much as john loves her, he’s pretty over it. while he’s eating breakfast he sends gaz to deal with it, but gaz just comes back and says she’s not in her room.

john sends him back to his room, because she infiltrated on him last night, but gaz just comes back and says she’s not there either. john starts getting a little worried, so he gets up with a couple grumbles to go check for himself with kyle trailing back behind him.

if he hadn’t known the lump on the foot of the bed wasn’t a crumpled up blanket, john wouldnt have know it was her either. but his pup, she loves sleeping on the wrong end of the bed. he flips the thin comforter up, and sure enough, she’s all curled up with the dog plushy johnny brought her back from his trip home.

(technically it’s a german sheppard but she still loves it. she might not listen to them, but she loves her other boys. they just…aren’t john.)

he pets down the back of her hair, before letting his hand rest on her shoulder. her legs stretch out, and she does that thing pet dogs/cats do where there head is upside down and her stomach is up. one of her fluffy ears is squished between the mattress and her head, and a canine is poking out.

john can tell she’s waiting for him to rub her tummy, but if he doesn’t withhold it, there’s no way she’ll get up. plus, he’s quite sure she wouldn’t want gaz, or anyone else, really, to see her leaning into her dog instincts in such a way. less military dog, more domesticated puppy.

she shoots right up, fumbling to put sweatpants over her swatting tail when he promises a bit of extra whipped cream after breakfast.

[nikbrrr]

"your biggest nightmare, Logan?"

[nikbrrr]

I’m gonna do it! I’m gonna do the dishes!

[nikbrrr]

Surrounded by Shadows

Chapter Two

Summary: Even after months of working with the 141, you feel wrong, out of place. So when Laswell sends you to Las Almas alongside Ghost and Soap, your already fragile loyalty gets tested. And what to make of Commander Phillip Graves, you are unsure.

Gender neutral reader

Chapter 1

︻デ══━一.・。.・゜✭・.・

When you woke up, it felt as if your pain and irritation had doubled. There was a painfully firm hand on your shoulder, shaking you roughly. Blearily, you could make out Ghost, who was looking down at you with an angry glare.

You were still on that mission, you realized with shock, as Hassan's voice snickered about badly trained soldiers and lack of discipline just beside you. With a start, you sat up straighter.

Bad choice. The world immediately started swimming and spinning all around you. For a moment, the pounding behind your eyes intensified and all that you could hear was the high pitched whining that usually only occupied the background of most situations.

"Don't waste time. General's already on the line." Ghost reprimanded, pulling Hassan from the other side of the car and shoving him forward. There was a second truck, one you had ceased to notice before, embarrassingly enough. But you and the other's had only taken one...that meant there was someone else as well.

A snide comment that rang in a warmly familiar, almost homely, southern accent helped your memory freshen up. Shadow-1, your air support. Phillip Graves, the Commander of Shadow Company, you could recall Laswell tell you during the briefing. It was the first time you really saw him.

He looked a lot like you would have expected from just the way he spoke. It had been clear from his tone that he was confident, his posture and seemingly relaxed mannerism only confirmed that. He held an air of strength to him, a man that demanded respect by just being there.

Slowly your eyes travelled up. His clothes amused you just a bit. While you were running around in ranger green gear that, admittedly did not match those of Soap or Ghost, you looked professional. It was heavy gear, at least thirty pounds, and it made you look tougher and stronger than you actually were. But this man had put on his tac vest and a weapon's belt over a pair of jeans and a light blue button up. With his blonde hair, he looked almost casual.

The amusement left you the moment you spotted his face. His intense blue eyes were directed at you, not the bound man sitting at his feet. There was a stern expression on his face, a crease in between his brows. At first you thought it was worry, but that couldn't be right, this man didn't even know you. He just had to be upset with you, you decided. Because you were bleeding, slowing them down, casting a bad light on them in front of Hassan. Maybe you weren't as decent of a soldier, after your injury, as you liked to tell yourself.

Whatever maddening overthinking your brain wanted to conjure up, it was interrupted by Soap pulling on your bicep. "Get off yer ass." He muttered, pulling you from where you were still leaning heavily into the seat of the truck. You felt drained and for a moment held onto the still opened door, before your legs felt less like those of a newborn foal.

But your thoughts were elsewhere. You had nothing to add to the interrogation, nor the discussion with Laswell and Shepherd. As long as you kept your head down, it would be fine though, you tried to tell yourself, but through it all, you could feel the boring gaze of Phillip Graves into your neck.

.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・

It had been a good thing, that you hadn't involved yourself in the interrogation. Even without your misjudged actions and questions it had been a disaster, Hassan had barely giving helpful answers at all. Worse, he had mocked the lot of you.

Graves had, rightfully, you thought, been frustrated. He had gone as far as asking Shepherd to personally finish the matter, but the General had denied.

Where Graves was resigned and frustrated, Soap was irritated. Ghost you weren't so sure about, but the way he stood still and burned everyone with his gaze told you enough. You were used to him being the silent angry guy and this seemed like the right situation.

Despite all, they obeyed their higher ups, agreeing to take Hassan back instead of holding him. Obedient as ever, and more than anything ready for some cleaning and a more, or less, soft bed, you trudged after them. You didn't make it far. A soft hand held onto your shoulder.

"You okay, soldier?" Graves was the last person you had ever expected to ask you that. It made no sense for him to talk to you, outside of reprimands and orders, your brain had already decided. But no, he was really asking, that crease between his eye brows a little deeper than before.

For a moment you stood like a deer caught in the headlights. Then, your mouth opened and closed, no sound making it out. "I- Sir-" You began, before Ghost rudely interrupted you.

"Take Croc back to base with you, yeah mate?" He asked Graves, talking to the Commander as if you were not also standing right next to the both of them. Graves raised a brow and gave you a once over. As if taking that as a decline, Ghost added more. "Has been slowing us down so much already, it'll only be worse now. Get the Corporal to Medical, nothing more."

It seemed convincing enough, going off Graves' unbothered shrug. He smiled, in a way that only charming poster boys could, and patted your shoulder softly. "Reckon I can do that." He mused, grabbing the closed laptop off the hood of the truck he had come with, before waving you along.

A loud rumbling engine and the flowing dust told you that your own team, along with Alejandro and Hassan, had already left. Hadn't even checked in, no sitrep, no goodbye.

A painfully careful hand on the back of your neck snapped you from your trance. With as much will as you had left, you pushed the lump in your throat and the lingering feeling of hurt away. Graves stood next to you with a conflicted expression, the driver's side door of the truck left open. It seemed he had turned around after you fell into rigidity.

"Come on, let's clean that up. Not like there's any hurry." He urged, slowly guiding you to the passenger's door. You had half a mind to open it and sink into the seat. The material was softer and the smell of leather was strong in the air. The car Graves had driven here reminded you of late summer nights spent with friends; stargazing, sitting and talking for hours.

Involuntarily your relaxed, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding. "It isn't that bad, Sir." The comment was a little pathetic. You sat in his car like a wet dog, behaved like one too, and still had the nerve to talk back.

But Graves seemed different. Maybe Ghost would have grumbled something, ignored you, while Soap awkwardly hovered, never too close. "Can't believe they let you run around like this. How'd this even happen?" He asked himself, his tone a little irritated. The antibacterial wipe against your skin was soft, the pressure barely there, just enough to clean your skin and assess any damage. How come he wasn't mad at you?

You wanted to answer him, tell him how you were a liability, how you were slow and heard badly, that you deserved this somehow. Yet, no sound escaped your throat besides a resigned groan, barely audible, more of a sigh anyhow.

Graves chuckled. He had stopped his cleaning, shining a small flashlight into your ears, and suddenly eyes. "Probably just a lil' concussed." You could faintly hear him say. "Nothin' bad, just sleep it out, Croc."

The pain wasn't even that bad. All that plagued your mind was, that either your team hated you, this man was too nice, or you had hit your head harder than anyone thought. "Yes Sir, will do." Tiredly, you met his eyes and found him smiling faintly, not that smug grin from before, but something softer. It was warmer than anything you had felt in those past months with the 141. Somehow, this stranger cared more, than the people you worked with every day. So you couldn't help yourself. "Thanks...Sir."

His hand softly rubbed over your American flag patch, right over your heart. Somewhere between helping you get into the truck, cleaning you up and now, he had taken off his gloves. It felt strangely intimate, the way he repeated your callsign once more, eyed your green uniform like something precious. Like you were worthy of his presence, not just some assist.

"Marines, past or present, stick together Croc." He closed your door, walking around the truck and sliding into the driver's seat. "Rest a little, I'll wake you at base. And cut the 'Sir', that's bullshit. Just Graves is fine, yeah kid?"

Yeah, you thought, you could do just Graves. And along with that, a nap. You didn't have the energy to question how he knew you were with the Marines before.

.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・

[nikbrrr]

[nikbrrr]

big fan of a character seeking comfort in the arms of the thing that’s going to kill them. and i am psycologicalily normal too.

[nikbrrr]

Graves x dog hybrid! Reader

Cw: Gender Neutral reader, hybrid unspecified aside from dog, light talk of injuries and fights, toxic relationships

Had to get this idea out!!

______________________

When he first gets you into the Company, he isn’t quite sure what to do. He‘d worked with dogs during his time in the USMC, but dog hybrids?

He‘ll treat you like a soldier, he decides. Gives orders, corrects mistakes and praises jobs well done. It takes him a little to notice that doesn’t really work.

Your dog part handles his treatment a lot differently. Without precise instructions you are, despite all training, lost in the field. Even the smallest of praises sends your tail wagging wildly and messes your concentration up, and even a displeased frown results in pinned ears and a tugged in tail.

So Graves changes his approach, treats you more dog-like. He doesn’t understand that you weren’t brought up as an equal like most hybrids, but he‘s happy his methods work. You were lesser, always, that was something you followed, he realised quickly.

He makes you heel and sit. By his desk, in the cargo plane, during meal times. And it helps, oddly enough. Precise commands and a little work have you doing excellent field work, acting almost like his personal guard dog.

It escalates so much you follow him everywhere. Eating from his hand becomes the norm, sleeping at the bottom of his cot, like a real dog. You long for his hand between your ears, in your hair, rubbing over the collar that holds the Company logo.

You don’t realise the difference, and neither Graves nor the Shadows care much about it, between you and the average hybrid. You were a favour from one of his contacts, practically raised for the job instead of by a loving family. So you cling to scraps of affection, dig your teeth in and don‘t let go. Performing well will get you the love you yearn for.

Oh, but when Graves takes you to Las Almas to hunt down Hassan, does it become clear that you are more than a regular hybrid soldier with a fair contract and life. You stay by his side, like always, listen to his beck and call. But you can feel how the Vaqueros glance at you. Like a mutt, not an ally. Disgusted by how you act, too animalistic, too loyal. They don’t understand that it’s not just Graves treatment, it’s how you function.

While they keep a professional distance, the 141 dog hybrid, Soap, and his handler Ghost inquire. Soap greets you happily, sniffs you up and down and bounces off the walls like a puppy. You only inspect him with hesitation after Graves nods and places an encouraging hand on the back of you neck.

It doesn’t take the Scot long to realise there is something odd to you. When he tries to playfully wrestle and chase you around on a field after dinner on the first day, it ends with Graves sharply whistling you to his heel, scruffing you neck and pulling you off a shocked Soap with angry reprimands. You don’t realise that the bruises on Soap‘s face are bad, that you were supposed to blow of some steam, instead of establishing your strength and rank.

Graves shortens you leash after that, literally. Hooks it to your collar on base, muzzles you when Soap riles up your dog part too much with his careless energy and willingly instinctual behaviour. He knows that you are more instinct than control, unlike Soap, and that it will end with hurt and confusion for the other once more.

The 141 men quickly get a feel for who you are after the little incident between you and Soap; the attack dog that only seems to obey the shadows. They find your reliance on Graves odd, the way you always circle him like he‘s the center of your galaxy. Between him and his Sergeant, Ghost calls you unsafe, an unpredictable and emotionally reliant animal.

But they only truly understand the extend of your loyal and dependent temper when the Shadow Company Commander betrays them at the gate. The way his hybrid lunges at the smallest signal, taking down Alejandro and setting their eyes on Soap state a clear message. Don’t fuck with Graves, or you will regret it.

You‘re a blood hound, and when your beloved Commander, the only one to understand you, to show you what you see as true care, sets you loose to find them in the night of the city even Ghost isn’t sure they stand a chance at escaping.

[nikbrrr]

Hmmm....wolf hybrid!reader who comes from an all human team that were lowkey abusive, joining the hybrid!141???

Ghost and Soap are showing u around, getting you caught up to speed with the specifics of the base, the first you've been in designed with hyrbids in mind. The bed you get it actually embedded in the ground, designed to simulate typical den arrangements for most hybrids, a far step up from the ur old bed that stored boxed underneath, unable to ever feel safe in it.

As ur unpacking ur very meager belongings, soap pauses mid rant, eyes zeroing in on something in ur bag. When you turn around from putting ur fatigues up you freeze. Soap is holding ur muzzle. You didnt intentionally hide it, but you were hoping to maybe get a week without wearing it. Soap looks pissed, is he upset you didnt mention it outright?

"Is this a fucking muzzle?! Kid- why the fuck do you have a muzzle in your bag?" He waves the small cage around, shrugging off ghosts hand. "You what, wanted to do something with this? Some sort of hazing shit?" He assumes the worst, taking a step closer as u step back.

He only pauses when you let out an apologetic whine, looking up and baring ur neck in submission. "Sorry! sorry- im sorry sir! Its mine, I should have told you about it im sorry, here, ill put it on, okay?"

You make to grab the muzzle but soap pulls it out of reach, brows furrowed. He's looking at you like ur a problem to solve, eyes taking in the scared and submissive posture. Ghost steps forward to grab the muzzle, snaps and warps the bars between his hands easily with a growl.

"No one's putting on a muzzle, okay kid? We dont do that shit here." He grunts, knowing you don't believe him at all. When you dont respond, they awkwardly leave, not close enough to you to help without freaking you out more.

You huddle up in tbe corner of the room, away from the bare den, wondering to urself how long does this test last? Do they have their own muzzle for me? Should I say sorry for bringing my own? Why wont it stop?

[nikbrrr]

New here, just found your blog and have been binging it lmao. I was wondering if you'd do more wolf hybrid!reader? I'm invested and hope you've still got some ideas :D

What about wolf!reader who interprets everything as a command??

Youve been with them for a few weeks, and ghost is starting to get concerned. You do everything asked, no matter what. Which, really wouldnt be a problem, some lieutenants would love you. Except you do *everything* asked. No matter whether said ask was made as a joke or a teasing comment.

If soap whines from the couch that hes hungry, and everyone ignores him as he asks them to make something, but he finally asks you? Then ur up and in the kitchen. A bit of people pleasing, but fine. Then later ur sat on the couch, enjoying a documentary when kyle comes up and says "move." He expects you to tell him to fuck off, as is standard between the guys at this point, but you just nod and shuffle onto the floor. Okay, slightly concerning.

It becomes alot worse, though, when someone comments on ur sparring. Ur new, no where near ghost or prices level, so they tell you you should be practicing or training in ur free time, right? Except all you *have* is free time. You dont have the paperwork requirements of higher ranks, and you dont have any social obligations, so you just....train. again and again each day.

None of the others notice this, of course. Not when you hardly talk to them and checkins with price consist of "how was your day?" And a silent thumbs up from you. You improve, who wouldn't when they spend 9 hrs a day working on something? But ur also alot hungrier. Its fine, u usually grab a protein bar from the kitchen, until when you duck in to grab one soap is already there.

"Ah swear we just got these! How the hell are we already out?" He seems frustrated, glancing up at you he waves the empty box around "hey, you let me know if you find whoever is eating all of these, ill set 'em straight." So....you stop eating them.

It's difficult, tearing ur body apart each day on just the meals provided in the mess, never really full. It comes to a head when ur sparring with ghost again and with just a shove you fall to the mat. He expects you to get back up, maybe flustered by the trip, but you dont. He leans down, then promptly swears under his breath.

You passed out, cold. When ghost lifts up your form to cary u to the medbay, his lips purse at the bony press of ur spine along his arms, wondering how the hell he missed this.

[nikbrrr]

Surrounded by Shadows

Chapter 1

Summary: Even after months of working with the 141, you feel wrong, out of place. So when Laswell sends you to Las Almas alongside Ghost and Soap, your already fragile loyalty gets tested. And what to make of Commander Phillip Graves, you are unsure. Gender neutral reader

Chapter 2

︻デ══━一.・。.・゜✭・.・

For the past few hours, you had been bothered by a raging headache and an ever present ringing in your ears. It started with the glaring beeping of your alarm at 05:30 and persisted through the briefing and flight. Getting flown out at sunrise had not been on your list of plans for the day, much less with Ghost and Soap. But as a tech specialist, Laswell thought that hunting down stolen missiles in Mexico was the ideal job for your skillset.

Mexico was almost home, you kept telling yourself. It had been months since you last visited the States, your home base. You dearly missed the Marines, even though your team had split up long ago. Heavy injuries and death had wormed it's way between all of you, leading to the attendance of more funerals or honorable discharges than you would have liked.

Even with your damaged hearing, the annoying ring of a tinnitus, you avoided your own. Veteran's pay was not worth it, you kept telling yourself. Even if you couldn't work like before, you were still a good soldier, you kept telling yourself. But never would you have thought that you would end up here.

Forcibly switching from recon to tech was one thing, one you could handle. There was still enough action, still enough adrenaline and noise to make you forget the dark, warbling void in your chest.

Being loaned to a British Taskforce however, was a thing you could not handle. Or maybe, you could have. Back in the Marine Corps, you had run into SAS Soldiers or other Brits here and there. It hadn't made a difference to you, all soldiers bled the same. You fought for the same cause.

But it did seem to make a difference for the 141. They weren't rude, not hard to work with either, but even after almost six months, they treated you like a one mission thing. Like they'd return from the mission and you would leave with a friendly handshake and a pat on the shoulder.

Captain Price was stern, which was nothing you weren't used to, but somehow that attitude applied to you more than the rest of the team. You had thought that it would get better once they warmed up to you, that such a tightly knit team just needed time, however, the warming up never happened.

Between successful missions, helping them patch their wounds, watching each other's six and long deployments, most you got was that stern nod of barely given approval. A hesitant handshake from Gaz or Soap, a pat to your shoulder or vest from Price, silence instead of the usually judgmental words from Ghost.

The Lieutenant seemed to have a personal problem working with you, always keeping you at least an arm length away. Even now, in the belly or the cargo plane, you could feel his intense gaze boring into the American flag on your chest, as if that was an offense to his very being.

Soap, ever obedient to his superior, had sat next to Ghost, opposite of you. After a very tense silence and angry grunts from Ghost, he had referred from exchanging even a few words with you. It was worse now, than it had been in Al Mazrah. The other Marines had been a good exchange, good company. But now, that it was only you three, the 141 showed you once more, that you were nothing but an intruder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・

You were almost grateful when the plane finally set down and the droning engines stopped. A nap would have been a real dream now, but Laswell had made it clear in the briefing, that you would immediately have to work with the Mexican Special Forces.

She wasn't joking. As soon as you stepped down the ramp, a step behind Ghost and Soap, always behind, you could already see a convoy of army trucks. In front of the first stood two men. Just from their posture, you could see who the leader was. He introduced himself as Alejandro Vargas, his second hand as Rodolfo Parra, speaking to your team in a friendly tone. But you could see how him and Rudy eyed your flag patch.

Vaguely, you heard the other two introduce themselves, and after a slight pause, you introduced yourself as well. "Corporal." It was a curt introduction, but you wanted to keep it as professional as possible. "Call me Croc." The callsign wasn't all that professional, but it was something that had been given to you by your fellow Marines. No matter how many weird looks it would get you, you had sworn to stick with it.

After giving you a scrutinizing once over, Alejandro lead you towards the first truck and you got in the back, squished between Ghost and Soap. At least they didn't make you ride in a different truck, that would have been embarrassing.

Throughout the drive you were briefed on the situation in Las Almas. There was Cartel all over, corruption lacing the views of both the police, as well as some of the army. It made your blood run hotter, the anticipation growing. You couldn't even blame Soap for wanting to engage when an armored and armed Cartel patrol drove by. You wanted to engage too, longed for some adrenaline to quench your nervousness.

No, that was wrong. It was had to remind yourself, but you found counting your breaths and letting your tinnitus be louder than the world around you helped.

By the time you reached the spot where the Cartel was hiding Hassan, there was an eerie calm to you. It was that haze, that made it hard to remember missions afterwards, much to Price's dismay. Half blank reports weren't generally nice; the Brass always got angry with that. But you couldn't help it. Slipping into that mindset was safety, from the horror and the fear that filled you on the field ever since you had been pulled from the USMC and loaned out to various teams, now the 141.

The mission was a total chaos, one that left a misty gap in your mind. You were chasing Hassan, then the army was chasing you, and at last you were back to chasing him. You hadn't expected to move through the mountains, weren't prepared to balance along thin edges and steep drops. Your hearing loss and tinnitus gave you a hard time and you had to bite back multiple angry counters when Ghost reprimanded you for your slow pace and unsure footing.

The leap did it for you. There was barely time for questions and no time at all to explain to them that there were things you couldn't do. At the first hesitation, Ghost gave you a firm push. The wind howled in your ear, louder than the ever present ringing, before a wave of hard, cold water met your body.

For a moment, your vision swam and the ringing turned into static. The cold clung to your uniform and weighed you down, like death had personally wound its icy claws around you. Then, there was a tug, your vest pulled taut and with a gasp you broke through the surface. Despite your tries to get air into your lungs, you spluttered, something wet and metallic running over your face. The water was one thing, but the warmth seeping from your nose and ears was another.

"You good hermano?" Alejandro's voice drifted to you. His face was blurry, or maybe that was your vision. Still dazed, you nodded. He exchanged glances with your Lieutenant and you could already feel their judgement. But there was no time to take breaks and no turning back, so you followed along, mind only half catching up when the shooting started again.

When the American voice came in over comms, for a moment you thought you were dreaming. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered Ghost talking to Alejandro of contractors. You'd heard of them, PMC's, some of your old USMC mates were recruited after their contracts ended.

The PMC, Shadow Company, seemed to be in a good mood, leveling the bridge you came up on, before greeting you over comms. Shadow-1, was talking, you distinctly picked up. The southern accent almost made you smile, almost. Then Ghost brought up you. "One injured", he informed, already dragging you along with a low comment. "You shouldn't be cleared for the field."

It hurt, more than the minor injuries slowing you down. You knew you were a liability right now, keeping them from really going after Hassan, but you didn't ask for this.

Biting through was hard, but with the air support you managed. Knowing what was coming felt oddly reassuring, Shadow-1's voice a calming reminder that someone had your backs if it all went sideways.

By the time you had fought your way through the house and city, Hassan secured in the truck with all of you, the throbbing beneath your temple was almost unbearable. As Alejandro drove into the desert to interrogate Hassan with Shadow's help, your head tipped against the window and your eyes slipped shut.

Surely you could rest for just a moment, then you'd wipe the blood off and go back to being their extra.

.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・゜✭・.・