Specter's Redemption |Ghost x Reader|

The Last Stand

The sprawling metropolis of Chicago lay beneath Task Force 141's feet as they prepared to disembark, each member lost in their thoughts about the mission. The frigid wind swept through the dimly lit streets, a biting reminder of the tension that thickened the air like smog. Before them towered a colossal skyscraper, its glass and steel facade gleaming ominously in the twilight.

The team precisely executed their plan: Ghost, Price, Gaz, and Soap maneuvered toward the building's entrance, their footsteps soundless on the cracked pavement as they approached their target. Meanwhile, (Y/n) had secured her position at a neighboring rooftop, transforming into a sharpshooter's nest. As she peered through the lens of her sniper rifle, her heart raced with anticipation. She rechecked her scope, aligning it with her calculated angle. Her keen eyes swept across the horizon, noting the skyscraper's rooftop, where a contingent of Marines stood ready, alert for any signals.

"I've got eyes," (Y/n) replied, her eyes scanning the building across the street. "Hasaan is 5 floors above you." She adjusted her scope again, ensuring she had eyes on the entrances and windows where Hasaan's men would likely be posted. Every second felt like it could be the one that made or broke the mission.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price began infiltrating the lower levels. They crept, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting of the office building. They communicated in quick, efficient whispers, each aware that time was of the essence.

Ghost led the charge, his mask hiding the focused intensity in his eyes. Price moved in lockstep beside him, the two working seamlessly as they navigated the hallways, checking corners and doors. Soap and Gaz were at the rear, ready to provide backup if necessary.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor ahead. The team froze, instinctively drawing their weapons. Ghost motioned to Price, signaling for him to take the lead.

Before they could move any further, the silence was shattered by the unmistakable sounds of gunfire. A burst of bullets sprayed from around the corner, forcing the team to take cover behind a nearby set of desks.

"Shadows," Ghost muttered, his voice low and steady. "Graves must've put them here to protect Hasaan."

"Let's not give them a chance," Soap growled as he slid behind a desk, firing a few rounds toward the source of the gunfire.

Price nodded, signaling for them to push forward. "Move up. Stay close."

The team advanced, navigating the maze of cubicles and office equipment, taking out shadows one by one. The firefight erupted into chaos as bullets ricocheted off metal and walls, forcing the team to adapt quickly to the ever-changing angles. Soap and Gaz flanked the left side, cutting off any escape routes, while Ghost and Price took the lead, making sure to move methodically, clearing each section of the building.

(Y/n) was watching it all unfold from across the street, her heart pounding in her chest. She could see flashes of gunfire as they moved through the building. She was trained for this—no hesitation, no mistakes—but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. They were so close, and the risk was greater than ever.

The comms crackled again as Price's voice came through. "How far ahead is Hasaan?"

(Y/n) adjusted her scope again, focusing on the movement on the higher floors. She could make out a figure moving through the lens—Was that Hasaan?

Before (Y/n) could respond, a sudden explosion from below sent debris flying, knocking (Y/n) 's focus off for a split second.

"What the hell was that?" she muttered, leaning in to see what was happening.