The Medic || Ghost [Simon Riley] Story.

See Me.

Myla

My hip throbs with a dull excruciating ache, caused by the incessant shaking of my knee since I stepped foot on this infuriating aircraft. The lack of communication has left me completely clueless about what's going on. Just when I'm about to throw a fit, the atmosphere inside the aircraft shifts, signaling the beginning of our descent. Fuck.

As soon as the helicopter touches down, I am forcefully yanked out and thrown into the disciplinary barracks.

Standing before me is a tall, grey-haired man, his face flushed with anger, and a bead of sweat dangling from his crooked nose.

"Staff Sergeant Nash, where are the rest of your team?" he grunts in his thick Scottish accent, his hands firmly planted on the table.

Remaining silent seems to be my only viable option, as I genuinely have no clue about their whereabouts. And I know I can't tell him what I do know.

"Answer me!" he demands.

I swallow, my throat parched and scratchy from dehydration, my eyes irritated from the swirl of dust kicked up by the helicopter.

Summoning the strength to clear my throat, I take a deep breath. "I don't know, Sir," I reply, meeting his intense gaze. The badge on his chest reads Stolteman.

"That's not good enough. They have vanished without a trace," he scoffs, interrupted by a knock at the door. "What?" he barks over his shoulder.

Another soldier enters, looking sheepish, and extends a satellite phone towards him. "It's for you."

Stolteman snatches the phone and puts it to his ear. His brows immediately furrow, and he glares at me menacingly before angrily slamming the phone back at the soldier and storming towards me.

"You've got some influential friends, Nash," he spits, leaning across the table, his stare filled with venom.

I pace back and forth in the sleeping quarters, almost wearing a hole in the floor. I have no idea what is happening with the boys, whether they are injured or... I tap my forehead three times. I don't believe in a higher power, but I'm praying to every single religion to keep them safe. To keep him safe.

This whirlwind of emotions has me feeling all sorts of things, trapped in a state of uncertainty, filled with endless possibilities and fears. And it sickens me. Everything right now is making me feel this way.

Hours pass, hours. The sky transitioned from bright blue to a deep orange, and now I sit in darkness. Still no news. My hands cover my face, my body shakes violently, and my mouth feels dry. I can't take much more of this.

The knock on the tent post sends my heart racing through my bones and flesh.

"Sergeant Nash," the voice booms as I spring to my feet.

I stupidly open the flap with hope in my eyes.

"Anything?" I ask the soldier, whose name I don't care to know.

He rubs the back of his neck, brows furrowing in confusion. He shakes his head before glancing down at his clipboard. "You're being transported out of here at 0400."

My heart sinks into my empty stomach. "Excuse me?"

"Your leave has been approved and brought forward," he tells me.

"No."

"No?"

I fold my arms across my chest, turn my back on him, and take a step away. "I don't want it anymore."

He lets out a frustrated sigh, clearly exasperated. "This is...you have to go."

"No, I don't. I can't go. I can't," I reply, my voice filled with desperation.