27th June 2027

Santa Monica Airport, Occupied California

The car hurtled along the road, leaving a trail of massacred security checkpoints in its wake. Spirit drove, while Elias rode shotgun- quite literally, he had used it to kill five SAMA troops already. James "Dash" Mettle was squished in-between Merrick and Keegan.

The second car contained Alex "Trace" Johnson at the driver's seat, with Chris "Hint" Greene in the passenger seat. Logan and David rode in the back.

"Here we go!" screamed Elias, as the car smashed through the gates of Santa Monica airport.

The runway stretched on for a mile ahead of them, and hangars and the Air Traffic Control tower littered the area.

Logan leaned out the window and fired an RPG, reducing a guard tower- and the guard- to scorched ash.

Dave did the same; he obliterated the control tower to nothing more than glass and scarred flesh.

"Good hit, Spectre," said Elias.

"Thanks, da-, uh, Ghost."

SAMA soldiers flooded out of the airport, and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets at the cars racing down the runway; Spirit had put enough distance between his car and the main buildings to be out of range of any serious risks.

Trace hadn't.

"Get down!" he screamed as the Ghosts ducked beneath the seats. Bullets whizzed past, missing their heads by centimetres. Glass shattered and small shards flew at them. He never took his foot off the accelerator.

A stray shot hit the car's tire. It exploded in a sudden bang that nearly gave Logan a heart attack; ironic considering the bullets smashing into the car around him.

Either way, the car swerved violently before its convulsions was too much for its balance to handle; it smashed into a lamppost, which embedded itself into the car's front and did not waver from its position.

"Fuck! Everybody out!" screamed Trace, and they complied.

"We've done enough damage here today! Take 'em months to fix it!" said Hint. "I say we get the hell out of here!"

"Negative, Hint. Still a few jets left; blow them up before you go. Leave one to escape in," said Elias.

"Ghost, there's no way we can-"

"That's an order, Spectre."

"Okay, Ghost."

Spectre aimed his grenade launcher and reduced the nearest jet to glass and debris.

"Shit!" screamed Trace. "Helicopter!"

Bullets riddled their position, and they all dove for cover; Hint behind the remains of the jeep, Trace behind a stack of barrels, David behind a small shack with Logan.

Rorke's helicopter had "Ride of the Valkyries" playing full blast as it descended over the airport.

"Yeah!" he screamed. "Alvarez! Blanco! You're with me!"

He rappelled down the rope and landed on the hot tarmac, Alvarez and Blanco flanking him.

"Okay, reinforcements are here! Get the hell out!" screamed Elias.

Spirit jammed his foot on the breaks, and the car skidded to a halt next to a AC-130

The four Ghosts ran inside; Spirit and Elias taking the controls, and Merrick and Keegan flipping open the rear door. As Spirit moved onto the runway, sparks emitted from the door scraping along the ground.

"Hint, Trace, Shadow, Spectre! Get on our plane now!" shouted Elias.

Logan looked at Elias's plane; it was several hundred meters down the runway.

"Uh, Ghost, we have a small passage jet, permission to commandeer that?" asked Trace.

"Negative, Trace. Get on ours."

"Ghost, we're never gonna make it-"

"Just do it!"

Trace shrugged, and the four of them bolted.

Rorke ran down the runway, his two goons struggling to keep up.

"Rorke, this is Olivares. Got a good shot on the runners, can take 'em down-"

"Negative, Olivares. I've got this."

Trace was lagging behind; Rorke launched himself forward and rugby tackled him to the ground.

Smacking his head against the concrete, Trace cried out. Rorke silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

"Alvarez, zip tie the bastard."

Hint glanced behind him as he sped across the runway, to see Trace subdued. Firing off a few potshots that were never going to hit, he shouted, "Guys! They've got Trace!"

He had just finished saying it when he shuddered violently and a fountain of blood erupted from his stomach. He stumbled a few more feet before crashing into the ground.

"Hint!" screamed David, as he finally clambered into the AC-130.

Logan was maybe twenty feet away from the jet when a second bullet whacked into his leg.

"LOGAN!" screamed Dave, and attempted to run out. His father grabbed him.

"It's too late, Spectre. It's too late."

Logan felt the searing pain soar through his body, and collapsed.