The Loop: Chapter One
Most of it was a blur, clouded by fear and pain, but there was a certain moment during his own death that Ghost would always remember with absolute clarity: the realisation of the treachery. For months afterwards he would close his eyes and see Shepherd's steel grey stare in the darkness, devoid of emotion, as he pulled the trigger. After that, everything was in slow motion: Roach crumpled around the impact of the bullet and fell backwards, slamming into the dusty ground. For a second, Ghost didn't believe it; it was too much to take in, and then Shepherd turned to him. Their gazes locked and the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Ghost felt like he was moving through treacle as he tried, in vain, to bring the ACR up to fire. He replayed it every night; it haunted his dreams in a recurring loop and he was never fast enough. The bullet slammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet, and then it all went black.
He came round minutes later as the faceless soldiers of Shadow Company manhandled him towards Roach. The pain in his chest was agonising and when he was grabbed under the arms he tried to scream. It felt like they were tearing his shoulder off. It hurt to breathe. Hurt too much. He looked down and saw the blood blossoming on his clothes. Pressure. Put pressure on it. He tried to move his hand but it didn't seem to be listening to his brain. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain and fell into darkness.
This time, it was the smell that woke him. It was a smell he knew, and for a few seconds he mentally fumbled for the reason why it was important. Then it hit him: it was petrol. The horrific realisation of its significance briefly blocked out everything else: they were going to burn him alive.
He could still see Shepherd, standing over them and regarding them as if they were the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. Kill. Him. He focussed on the pistol, still in its holster on his leg, but he couldn't move past the agonising pain. The world blurred again for a moment and he knew everything was lost. He was going to die here. He could hear a noise, a distant alarm as he felt the start of the heat rising.
"Oh for crying out loud!"
"It's not my fault! I wanted to see the Solstice!"
Ghost floated on the edge of consciousness, the fumes making his head swim. He could hear voices.
"Is Stonehenge famous for being in the middle of a war zone, darling?"
"Might be. Might be the off-season."
They faded and slowed, the sounds deformed by the pain.
"Oh for goodness sake! What are they shooting at us for?"
"They're Americans! Look, you need to help me!"
"You shot him!"
"He was trying to shoot me! Just shut up for a second and help me!"
They faded again, muffling as his vision clouded. He could see outlines of shapes moving, distorted by the haze of heat and then there was nothing.