Ghost

. D E S P O T I C .

ROLLING HIMSELF BACK AND FORTH, Tyler sat in his wheelchair, looking out of the wide windows of his hospital room. Behind him, Nik walked through the open door and stood next to him, glancing at his 'chair' and bandages. It was the worst she'd ever seen him, but it was better than him being dead. 

"You should have pulled the plug." Tyler mumbled, his voice hoarse from not using it for months. Nik lightly glared at him.

"Well it's hard to give up on someone you care about." She stated, somewhat hurt by his indifference.

"Oh yeah," Tyler said, and edge to his voice. "I'm really looking forward to my bright future." To add more sarcasm, he wheeled himself around a little before leaving the room for physical therapy. 

It comes as no surprise that PT wasn't very enjoyable, especially when you used to be at peak physical condition and some kind of main character badass. Tyler went to PT everyday, forcing his now weak body to stand with the aid of a leg brace and parallel bars. He was guided in stretches, and Nik and Yaz would stand by as they watched their partner suffer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9  MONTHS PRIOR

DHAKA, BANGLADESH

A final shot was fired towards Tyler as he stumbled. The bullet passed through his neck, blood spurting from the fresh wound. He staggered, tripping against the hood of a car before pushing himself back against the rail of the bridge. He glanced at the boy he was hired to protect, currently struggling against Niks arms. His eyes rolled back in his head as he cascaded over the bridge. 

What no one noticed, apparently too focused on the teenage boy with nine fingers that had shot Tyler, was a second figure plunging into the water after Tyler. She swam underwater to his limp body, looping her arms under his with his back to her chest, and kicking upwards. Breaking the surface, she swam to the shore line, dragging him with her onto the beach-y area. 

Tyler faded in and out of consciousness, each time staying under a little longer. At some point he managed to get his eyes to focus, landing on the blurred figure of what he assumed was a woman leaning over him, tending to his wounds. The most he could make out of her features were a pair of green eyes before he blacked out again.

She grabbed the roll of emergency bandages from her kevlar vest, briefly checking her watch, tying up all of his wounds and occasionally making a tourniquet with the bandages and a nearby stick or metal scrap as the windlass. When all his wounds had been mildly treated, she left a scrap of paper with the date and time she had recorded earlier on his chest for the medics to find*, and fired a flare into the sky before leaving, and grabbing her shemagh.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

5 MONTHS LATER 

TKACHIRI PRISON, GEORGIA

Guards paced throughout several hallways, passing murderers, felons, and a cell holding a small family of three, a mother and her two children. One guard paused before the cell, waiting for all others to pass, before unlocking the cell and passing the mother a plastic grocery bag full of food and condiments.  

This had become a routine for the two, starting a little over two months ago when the guard first showed up. The family had been getting food, however it wasn't nearly enough for all three of them to live properly off of, and Ketevan had been giving her children most of her portion too. When the young mother met the guard, her cheeks and eyes had been slightly hollow, and dirt caked around her mouth from eating food scraps off the floor. 

Ketevan had been very cautious around the guard at first, as the guard wore a headscarf, and she could only see green eyes. It was weird not being able to fully identify the guard. She found it easier to trust the guard after the food turned out to be edible and routine. It was also the only guard that refused to let Davit in the cell when he stopped by at night. Unfortunately, the guard rarely had a graveyard shift with Ketevan.