A/N: Issue w/ original had to re-upload.

VVVVV

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley awoke with a start. His eyes shot open, wide and alert, scanning his surroundings. He squeezed them shut as bright rays of morning sunlight penetrated into them. His hands curled into fists, then uncurled as feeling returned to his body. As consciousness grew, a myriad of sensations came all at once, nearly overloading his senses.

The operative took a deep breath and sat up gingerly, wincing at the brief ache in his head. He could feel his clothes rubbing against his body, as well as the unmistakable sensation of sitting on grass. He could also feel the trademark skull-balaclava he wore, as well as the red-tinted sunglasses shielding his eyes, and the dapper communications headset over his ears.

He could feel, which meant he was alive. But where was he?

The lieutenant looked around to find that he was surrounded by a lush forest, a thick canopy hanging overhead through which only a few rays of sunlight could penetrate.

He had all of his combat equipment with him, from the tactical vest he wore to his assault rifle of choice, the Remington ACR, slung over his shoulder. His memories were a bit fuzzy though. What happened?

The last thing he remembered was being in the Caucasus Mountains at the Georgia-Russian border, evacuating the area with Roach, meeting up with Shepherd, and...

Shepherd had betrayed them.

The lieutenant felt his fists clench as a surge of anger coursed through him. He shut his eyes tightly as his eyebrows knit into a glare, the memories of what had occurred flowing back.

The mission had been going smoothly, up until Makarov's entourage came to clean house. As soon as Strike Team finished downloading Makarov's files, they booked it out of there under heavy fire from all sides. He remembered seeing Ozone getting shot in the back and Scarecrow getting blown to bits by mortar fire. He wanted to go back for them, but he knew that there was no chance in saving them. That didn't stop the guilt and regret from welling up inside him, though. Their deaths had been completely unnecessary and totally avoidable. If only he had been quicker, or a bit more prepared, he might have been able to save them. They were good men. They deserved better.

It wouldn't have mattered in the end though.

Shepherd's betrayal was proof of that.

Ghost had been dragging an injured Roach to the LZ when the good general decided to make his move. The bastard shot Roach, and before Ghost could pull his own trigger in defense, he had been shot as well. He went out like a light. It had been so quick, so nonchalant. So uncaring for his own men.

Ghost was disgusted.

Couldn't even finish the job, wanker? he thought bitterly, his teeth clenched. Why go to such great lengths to betray him if he wasn't even going to finish him off? Why leave him alive, and kill everybody else? Perhaps Ghost got 'lucky'.

After everything they've done, after everything the 141 has done, sticking their necks out for the greater good, traveling to hell and back on a day-by-day basis to preserve the peace, sacrificing brothers-in-arms, friends and families, running through the fire and the ice to keep the world safe, protecting the populace from things they couldn't protect themselves from, from things they didn't even know they needed protection from, this is how they are repaid?

Rubbish.

A burning hate began to build up within the lieutenant, the same hate that had risen from the past, when his life had been nothing but the brutal manifestation of a real nightmare. The hate that came when he had lost everything to the bastards who had betrayed him the first time—his own teammates. The hate that forged his revenge story, the one in which Simon Riley and all that he had loved died, and the one in which Ghost was born. The same hate that made him who was today—the nightmare of the terrorists', the intangible supernatural force, Ghost. That same hate rose within him, ready to burst within a moment's notice.

Then, the hate dispersed, as did the fury and rage that came with it. All that was left was the misery of a man forced to relive his past, to relive the haunting day when he had been cast aside by those he had trusted. The darkness surrounded him, pulling him down into the depths, surrounding his heart in a glacier of cold, unforgiving pain.

Their voices...he could hear them. That day on Christmas Eve, the one day when they had needed him most, and he hadn't been there. When they cried for help in desperation, nobody came. Nobody heard them. Nobody cared.

Ghost cringed, shoving the rising emotions down. He'd dealt with it once. He'll deal with it again. And when he's done with that, he'll personally slit Shepherd's throat, even if he needs to fight through an entire bloody army to do so. He did it to Roba. He'll do it again.

You can't break what's already been broken.

Enough mucking around now. Where was he?

The area around him was covered in nothing but trees, trees, and more fucking trees. None of them were the coniferous trees that one would find in the Caucasus Mountains, though. It was also way too warm in this area for him to be anywhere remotely close to the mountains. Just how far away was he dumped?

Ghost felt his eyes being drawn to the left. He spotted a figure in the grass, laying face-down on the ground.

It was very familiar, donned in full tactical gear, including a fire-resistant jacket with the distinct logo of Task Force 141 embroidered on the side. Even more distinct was the headgear; that same helmet he had seen many times, worn by one of his longtime friends and greatest allies, one he'd fought alongside with for years.

His heart dropped at the sight.

"Roach?" he muttered. Before he knew it, he had rushed over and was crouching next to his friend's body. "You better not have kicked the bucket, mate!"

He shoved his fingers against the man's neck. There was a steady pulse. Ghost groaned out a sigh of relief. He was still alive.

Long-story short, Roach was a sergeant that had worked with Ghost since 2011. The man was always quiet and never spoke at all, but not out of choice. Thing is, Roach was rendered mute when his Larynx had been heavily damaged during an op quite a while back. It was a question of whether not he was still legally allowed to be in the Task Force. Probably not, but with the 141's top secret nature, it really didn't matter.

After confirming that Roach was alive, the lieutenant checked the man for injuries. His eyes widened when he saw that Roach was clean; there was evidence of entrance and exit wounds, but instead of a royally bloody hole in his flesh, there was only a scar where he had been hit, as well as some torn cloth from his vest and jacket. It was almost as if he hadn't been shot at all, but Ghost clearly remembered Roach getting shot...as well as himself.

It was at this point that Ghost realized he didn't feel any of the excruciating pain that came with getting shot. There was no sensation of molten lead searing through his insides, no abhorrent agony that came when bone was shattered, nor the feeling of the bullet resting inside him at all.

Now that he thought about it, nothing felt normal. He felt incomplete, like a core existence of his being was missing, and not just emotionally, but physically as well.

His whole body felt like it had been changed, morphed in a way, yet still the same. He felt...emptier. His fingers were the same but different at the same time. His chest felt lighter than usual—almost nonexistant. His legs felt like they had been severed and reconnected several times over. And...since when did he go bald?

His hair! Where was his hair!? It's vanished! He wasn't balding, was he? He's only thirty-five for fucks' sake!

The lieutenant's hand shot to his head. He massaged his temple in a circular motion, perplexed by this conundrum. He hadn't felt any of these abnormalities earlier. What was going on?

After a moment of hesitance, Ghost decided to focus on the more important task at the moment.

The lieutenant jostled the sergeant on the shoulder rather violently, as he always did whenever one of the operatives back in Hereford or Afghanistan made the mistake of oversleeping. Under his intense shaking, Roach stirred.

"Gary, get up!" Ghost whispered intensely. "C'mon mate, we've got to—"

The sergeant he had shaken so violently turned to him, and Ghost got a full view of the man's face.

Behind the sergeant's tactical goggles, where his usual brown eyes should be, were two large, yellow orbs that had neither irises nor pupils, only thousands of tiny ommatidia receptors. Breaching the top of his helmet were a pair of long antennae that bobbed up and down as if they had a mind of their own. Ripping through the operator's own balaclava were two tiny bone-like structures on either side of his mouth—mandibles.

Ghost found himself frozen at the sight.

Roach on the other hand, froze when he saw the lieutenant.

Both operators raised a single finger in unison, and slowly, shakily pointed at the other.

"R-Roach...Gary, y-you...I...I don't think..." he stuttered, pausing when he saw the sergeant pointing to his face. "What?"

Ghost's hand shot up to his visage. And then he realized.

In a flash, the lieutenant yanked his sunglasses off and twirled them in his hand to look at his reflection. Though his whole head was covered by the balaclava he wore, he could still see his eyes. Eyes that were no longer there.

The eyes of the reflection that stared back at him were nothing but empty sockets, save for the small silver lights that glowed in each one. Where flesh should have been, right between the sockets of his eyes, was instead smooth, white bone.

His jaw dropped. He turned his attention to one of his gloved hands. He shakily reached for his glove, burning in anticipation, and after a moment of hesitation, he pulled it off. A skeletal hand revealed itself to him. Skeletal not in that it was skinny, but in that it was literally the hand of a skeleton.

"Oh you've got to be shitting me—"

VVVVV

"No, mate, I haven't the bloodiest clue what the fuck happened to you...or me... But I may have an idea," Ghost replied to Roach's panicky gestures, shoving a piece of foliage out of his way. They'd been moving north for almost an hour now, quickly and quietly, but Roach hasn't calmed down since then.

There were too many things to factor in, too many things to worry about. For one, where were they? Based on the environment as well as the lack of any traceable disturbance of any kind, he was led to believe that one, they were no longer in the Caucasus Mountains, and two, nobody dumped them there. They were just there. As if they'd always been there since the beginning of time or some malarky like that.

Next, where the hell were they to go? There were no landmarks or anything of the sort indicating civilization at all. They could be dozens of miles away from any sort of infrastructure at all.

Last, but most certainly not the least, what the fuck happened to them? Roach had been turned into a twisted version of his namesake, a half-cockroach half-human thing. He had the antennae, eyes, and mandibles of a cockroach, and although he should be mute, he could now make these weird chirping sounds. At least the chirping sound was a benefit; in the past, when Roach got separated from the team, he'd always be radio silent on account that he couldn't speak. Now, he could communicate 'verbally' in some way. It should be noted that the sergeant was a lot more...twitchy, as if he was paranoid or ready to jump at a moment's notice. Knowing the anatomy of a cockroach, he probably was.

Ghost on the other hand—his sudden transformation made no sense at all! He was a skeleton! A fucking skeleton! How the hell could he even move or feel!? He had no muscles to support the bones, none of the elastic tissue that actually allowed bones to move in the first place! On the contrary, he could still move exactly the way he'd moved when he did have muscles. He had no blood, could breath but had no use for the oxygen, had no eyes but could see, no nose but could breath, no organs, could still talk without his vocal cords, and could still swallow even though he had no saliva.

What was even weirder was the feeling. Despite having no eyelids, he still had the sensation of closing his eyes, which were little more than small lights that would briefly disappear whenever he 'blinked'. Despite having no tongue nor lips of any sort, he could still 'use' them to make 'T', 'L', and 'M' sounds, even if he couldn't actually feel them. His ears were nonexistent, but he could hear everything loud and clear—normally, might he add, even though the absence of such appendages should more or less fuck up the way he perceived sound from different directions. Oh yeah, and he no longer needed to open his mouth to speak properly at all.

Something occurred to Ghost, something that seemed much more plausible now that these abnormalities, for lack of a better word, had been unveiled. Lacking eyelids, Ghost couldn't really narrow his eyes, but he tried to anyways.

Ghost gave his silent friend as apologetic of a look as he could give. "Mate...I think we're dead." He said it plainly and simply, not sugarcoating it in anyway.

Roach gave no outward sign that he acknowledged what he said, save for his mandibles clicking together softly. Perhaps the man didn't hear him, or maybe he just didn't' believe it. Ghost couldn't blame him.

Even with all of the evidence before him, the lieutenant still couldn't believe it.

After a solid minute of silence, Ghost continued. "I thought it was just a bad job at first. I thought they'd been careless and forgot to put a bullet in my skull, the tossers." He stared at his gloved hand—his skeletal hand. "I'm not so sure anymore."

He heard Roach sigh from his left. Looks like the man really was listening. He didn't sound so surprised. If anything, the sergeant sounded resigned, as if he was already sure of it. It made Ghost thoughtful.

"...What happened Roach?" he asked. "After I went out?" He looked over to the sergeant, who seemed to shiver in place. He made a series of gestures, intricate in detail, all of which Ghost understood. As Roach explained what happened, Ghost felt himself growing angry again.

"He...he burned you alive?" At Roach's shaky nod, Ghost nearly lost it. "That bastard! I'll put a bullet right between his old—" He clenched his already clenched teeth harder. The fire in his eyes burned brighter for a moment before they died down again. "...Shepherd really did do us in, didn't he?"

He let out a sigh. "...I've been dead for years, Roach. One half of me died with Roba. The other went down with Sparks and Washington...For the longest time, I've been the dead, broken husk of Simon Riley. I was dead, but I was a dead man with a mission."

There was a long pause. "I couldn't grieve, but I could do what needed to be done. And what needed to be done was the massacre of every bastard out there who thought they owned the world. People like Roba, Makarov, and...Shepherd." He chuckled wryly to himself. "My job was to haunt them. Like a ghost. I'm sure you know how I got this name." His skeletal fist clenched harder. Had he any flesh, he was sure his hands would have been bleeding. "But I guess that's not happening this time."

Roach nodded solemnly, sympathetic for the lieutenant. Besides himself, Roach knew of only three other people that knew Ghost's true past, one being Soap, another being Price, and the last being...Shepherd.

See, Shepherd knew what Ghost had been through, all the betrayals he'd suffered, the lost of his loved ones, and the lost of his team. He knew about the four month recovery therapy that Ghost had gone through, as well as the year long emotional reconciliation and counseling that he never finished. Despite this, Shepherd had done the worst thing he could have to Ghost: he triggered an emotional relapse via the repeat of a consistent traumatic event. PTSD. Roach could only imagine what Ghost was currently going through.

A worrying thought came to mind. He nodded to Ghost in slow, deliberate way, showing signs of concern, but not for the lieutenant.

After years of experience with Roach, Ghost could tell exactly what the man was thinking.

"I...I don't know, Gary. Ozone and Scarecrow are...they're gone. I don't know about the others. We can only hope the rest of the boys back at home are okay." He bit his lip, or at least, he tried to. It resulted in his teeth clicking together oddly.

Another thing occurred to Ghost, once again having to do with their situation. "If we're dead," he started slowly, catching Roach's attention. "Does that make this purgatory?" He chuckled sardonically. "It's more colorful than I thought it'd be. Any idea why we still have our stuff though?"

Roach shrugged. He put a hand to his chin before making another series of gestures.

Ghost shrugged back. "No idea why you'd be a cockroach and I'd be a skeleton, mate. Who knows, maybe the wanker who controls this whole death thing has a sense of humor."

His silent friend tilted his head, his mandibles clicking together. He made a motion of rising from the ground, mixed with another series of gestures.

Once again, the lieutenant attempted to raise a brow. It didn't work. "Resurrection?" he asked incredulously. "You think we're still alive?" The sergeant nodded, making a so-so motion. "What? Don't tell me you think we'd been cursed to wander for the rest of eternity or some Dr. Who bollocks like that."

At Roach's nod, Ghost paused. It would certainly explain why they still had their stuff. It would also explain why purgatory was so...green. "I don't know mate. For all I know this could be some cocked-up fever dream I'm having. But if we're still on Earth, then that means Shepherd is still around...You thinking what I'm thinking, mate?"

Roach gave a resolute nod. At that, Ghost internally smirked. If they were still on Earth, then that meant they still had a chance to take the bastard general down.

"Right then, let's get moving. If we're still on Earth, then we'll reach civilization eventually. From there, we can pinpoint our location, contact Price, and set up a game plan. Until then, communications are down for us." He paused, a lingering doubt in his mind. "But, if we're not on Earth and this really is purgatory, then...bugger."

The duo went silent and continued to walk unabated, one of them, a new breed of faunus never seen before by the fantastical world they had unknowingly arrived upon, and the other, a pile of living bones, strongly held together by ancient arcane forces that had long since disappeared from this Remnant of a world, the forces of magic.

So, their journey into the vast unknown began.

VVVVV

Ghost stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure up ahead. "Target, 30 meters, dead ahead."

Roach instinctively stopped next to him, raising his M4A1 in alarm. His antennae bobbed as a shift occurred, danger signals being sent directly to his brain. Oblivious to this, Ghost held a hand up, signifying for the sergeant to hold fire.

The two slowly approached the figure, and as they got closer, they were able to discern the features of what vaguely looked like a wolf. Except it wasn't.

"What the bloody...?" Ghost breathed into his communications headset.

The thing was massive, easily twice as large as a human, and covered in thick black fur. What looked like bones were protruding out of its back, shoulders, knees, and arms. It had large claws on both its hands and feet, and it stood hunched over, but still easily much taller and larger than Ghost, who was 6'3". Its face was protected by a large bone-like mask, and its mouth had jagged fangs jutting out in rows. Its eyes were glowing red, full of hate.

Neither operator had seen anything like it, and judging by the way it sniffed the air, prowling the clearing ahead of them, the pooch probably wasn't too friendly.

Ghost raised his rifle just in case, using his left hand to signal Roach to slowly circumvent the beast. They moved slowly and methodically, their stealth unmatched, their presence undetectable to the beast. The two stopped at a pair of trees, ever silent, and anticipating the beast's next move.

They waited with bated breaths as the creature sniffed the air, doing its damnedest to find something. The creature, on the other hand, was confused. It clearly got a whiff of something delicious earlier, perhaps a bit of self-loathing with a heaping helping of anger and hate, along with just a dash of sadness and anxiety. But now, it was all gone.

The beast was left to scratch its head. It found nothing, and, no longer interested, it turned to leave and began walking away from the site...straight towards the operators. Just their luck.

Each of its footsteps were surprisingly quiet for something so large, but even so, the operators could hear it approaching their location. Even with the small amount of light penetrating through the trees, they could still make out the beast's shadow, which grew longer as it got closer.

Ghost's eyes shifted to Roach's golden orbs, and somehow, he could tell that the man's eyes were on him. He tapped at the side of his headset, and Roach nodded.

As quietly as he could, he whispered into the comms. "Roach, try to get around it. Use the trees when it gets closer. We've not an onion about what this thing is capable of," he warned.

The sergeant opted to nod rather than click his mandibles.

"If it finds us, we'll have to engage. I've got a flashbang on standby."

Another nod, and the beast drew closer. If they did need to take it down, doing it quickly and quietly would have been preferred, but neither of their weapons were suppressed, so there was no point in taking a risk—with the size of that thing, it would probably take more than a few rounds to put down. Might as well shoot at it while its blind.

As the creature stepped between the two trees, both operators circled around the large trunks, moving slowly and carefully. They kept doing so, until they were finally around it.

Roach released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Roach, on me. Let's get out of here," Ghost whispered via radio. The two regrouped at the edge of the clearing, prepared to leave. "Move."

The beast turned around.

Unbeknownst to the two operators, the beast's eyes burned with a renewed hate. A bestial, animalistic growl escaped its throat, and the thing all but roared at them. The operators turned around, alerted.

"Shit, we're compromised!"

Without hesitation, Ghost tossed a waiting flashbang straight at the creature. The following flash-and-bang both deafened and blinded it, and it swung wildly in random directions in a mix of pain, confusion, and anger.

"Slot the bastard!"

The operators opened fired, their minds hard-wired to aim for the head and center-mass, avoiding the bone-like structures, except for the faceplate. 5.56x45 mm NATO rounds accompanied by 6.8mm SPC rounds were unleashed upon the beast in a wave of searing lead. The rifles in the operators' hands popped deafeningly loudly, much louder than any other rifle on this world had the right to be.

Their jacketed bullets moved at supersonic speed, the kinetic energy from such movement impacting on the dark fur and flesh of the beast, putting holes in it and tearing chunks away in some cases. Cavities of empty space were made deep within the beast's insides, the heat generated from the combination of friction and various smokeless powders burning at its insides.

In a blind rage and nearly already dead, the beast leapt forward, straight at the two operatives.

"HIT THE DECK!"

The members of Task Force 141 dropped to the floor in a flash, and the creature soared over them, flailing wildly. A black substance oozed from its hole-riddled body, spattering on both operatives as the creature smashed headfirst through a tree, its weighty frame falling into a roll as its momentum was ripped away.

"WATCH OUT!" Ghost yelled, his eyes wide as one of the trees came down on Roach. He needn't have worried.

The sudden shift in air current pushed against Roach's antennae, shocking him into action. Faster than he'd ever moved before, the sergeant rolled to the side almost in a blur, as if every fast-twitch muscle in his body had been activated at once, and the tree smashed into the ground next to him, leaves being torn off of it, branches snapping, and a cloud of dust being kicked into the air.

"Shit!" Ghost stood and vaulted over the fallen tree, landing on the other side of his friend. He carefully helped the sergeant up.

"Dammit, Roach, that thing never should've seen us," he admonished.

Roach clicked his mandibles twice, a wide-eyed, unbelieving look in those yellow orbs.

"Whatever, let's just not let that happen again, yeah?"

After recovering from their momentary shock, the two operatives turned to the beast, which was now nothing but a hole-riddled corpse on the ground.

The lieutenant let out a deep, stressed sigh. "Bloody hell mate, ever seen a wolf like that?"

Roach could only shrug in incredulity. Whatever the hell it was, it certainly wasn't from Earth. That thing had taken so many rounds, and even when it had upwards of two dozen holes in it, it leapt at them unimpeded with such speed that either operator was lucky to be alive...if they even were alive.

The sergeant watched as his commanding officer cautiously creeped over to the downed creature, following behind at a short distance. Both operators snapped their rifles up when the thing began moving again.

A dark mist rose from its body, and the whole carcass began to...disintegrate?

"What the hell?" Ghost commented for the umpteenth time, lowering his rifle as the creature's body melted away. "Mate...I'm inclined to believe we ain't on Earth anymore."

The sergeant gave the man a sarcastic look. No shit, Sherlock, he wanted to retort. He settled for clicking his mandibles once—a weird sensation that would take getting used to.

Ghost was silent for a moment, his sockets glowing behind his sunglasses softly. The lights dimmed for only a fraction of a second, indicting that he'd blinked. "Roach, how many rounds did that thing take?"

Both operatives did a quick magazine check. Roach had seventeen left in his mag while Ghost had nineteen. Seeing this, Ghost dragged a hand up his masked cranium dubiously.

"Twenty-three rounds...Christ on a bicycle..." He stood there, thinking for a moment. "We ever come up against one of them again, aim for the legs first. That fucking thing can jump. We immobilize it, and getting past it'll be cakewalk, yeah?"

Roach nodded at his commanding officer's deduction. The man was observant as usual.

"Right then, let's move before any more of these wankers—"

The forest seemed to shake as a cacophonous orchestra of roars and howls burst from all directions. There must have been tens—no, hundreds of them. Both operators were suddenly very aware of the clearing they stood in the middle of.

They looked at each other, both of their eyes wide—in Ghost's case, his lights burning brighter.

"DOUBLE TIME, LET'S GO!" Ghost barked, waving his arm to the north. The duo took off, running at Olympic sprinter speeds. Their hands clutched their weapons tightly in anticipation, the sound of the wind howling in their ears, the feral growls in the distance not too far behind.

Roach's antennae went wild, sensing things he'd never been able to sense before, his vision hundreds of times sharper and more perceptive than should be. He could feel the shifts in the air, smell the beasts that drew closer. They were getting close. Dangerously close.

There was a sudden spike in his awareness, his antennae alerting him to something coming. He raised his rifle mid-sprint, preemptively aimed at a bush on the left. His awareness was rewarded when one of those things jumped out at him from the foliage, though this one was a bit smaller than the other one.

He made to depress the trigger only to hear two loud bangs that were not his own. Ghost had somehow beaten him to it, it seemed, even though Roach knew where the thing was coming from. His respect for the lieutenant grew a bit more.

Roach was forced to duck as the larger-than-man-sized creature flew over him, crashing into the dirt behind him. The sergeant didn't look back, but based on the thing's pained cries becoming more distant, it seemed Ghost's tactic was working.

There was another spike in Roach's awareness, and this time, he didn't hesitate. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the wolf-things gaining on them. The rifle in his hands discharged three times, one shot hitting the torso, two in the legs. The creature roared as it faltered in its run, and in a last ditch effort, it leaped forward with all of its might.

Just as it was about to swipe at them however, the two operators jumped over a fallen tree in their path. The large creature rammed head first into the tree, sending splinters everywhere as the wood was torn apart under its weight. Helplessly, the thing bounced off of the dirt on the ground, tumbling through the air before it landed behind the operators, digging a small trench into the ground.

"Nice one, Roach!" Ghost called from ahead. "Heads up, on your three o'clock!"

Another one, this one the size of the first one they encountered, leaped into the air from afar. It flew several meters in the air, posed to land directly on top of Roach.

The sergeant sidestepped the beast, its momentum carrying it past him. Once it landed, it leaped at Roach again, swiping its large, razor-sharp claws. In a panic, Roach brought up his rifle to block. Instantly, the ACOG 4X Scope attachment on top of his rifle was turned into scrap metal and broken glass as the massive claws cleaved through it.

The breath was knocked out of him and the world spun as he was thrown back by the force of the strike, the claws nearly reaching him, but not quite, tearing a hole in his vest.

"Roach!" Ghost cried as his friend flew past him, landing in a heap on the ground. As the sergeant got to his feet, Ghost whipped around, glaring at the beast. "Fuck off!" he roared, unloading three shots into one of its legs. He fired two more at its neck for good measure.

The thing clutched at its oozing throat, but didn't go down as Ghost had hoped. It would do for now.

The lieutenant left the beast to struggle on its own, hurrying over to Roach just as the man got to his feet. "C'mon son, we're getting out of here."

The sound of thundering footsteps coming from behind ushered them forward. Roach glanced over his shoulder to see three more of the beasts bounding after them. Thinking on his feet, he nudged Ghost on the shoulder as they ran.

The lieutenant looked over to see Roach pulling one of his two flashbangs from his torn vest. "Let em' have it!"

With no hesitation, Roach pulled the pin and tossed the banger straight up. The flashbang worked its magic, releasing a head-ache inducing bang and a blinding flash of light.

While both of the operators were temporarily deafened, the couldn't say the same about being blinded, having ran past. For the massive wolf-like creatures, however, all three of them were stopped in their tracks, forced to shield their eyes or claw at their ears aggravatingly as the banger went off.

But even as those three aggressors were temporarily neutralized, five more took their place, relentlessly howling and roaring at the operatives as they gave chase.

"Dammit, we ain't gonna outrun these things, mate!" Ghost shouted, glancing behind them. "We've got to immobilize them. Take them two on your side, I've got these three. Go!"

In tandem, the two operators stopped back to back, aiming at their respective enemies. Roach unleashed four shots into the closer one's left leg. The the thing howled and halted its movement, allowing Roach to focus on the other one. Quick on the trigger, he unloaded the rest of his magazine into both of the other's legs, a total of eight shots. It collapsed on the spot, and Roach glanced to his teammate to see that the man had already dealt with two of them.

The third however was larger, and bonier. It raised an armored paw, blocking the lieutenant's shots. Then, it shot forward, aiming to impale the lieutenant.

"Oh, fuck me," Ghost uttered as he rolled to the side, barely avoiding the strike...except it wasn't aimed for Ghost.

Roach let out a silent scream as the creature tore his entire left arm off. The sergeant stared, horrified as a familiar red liquid spurted from his shoulder. His gaze turned to the creature, and he witnessed, petrified as it swallowed the appendage whole. He froze when the thing turned back to him.

"GET OUT OF THERE!"

But was too late.

The beast smashed him in the side almost nonchalantly, and he was thrown straight into the trunk of a tree. The back of his helmet smashed against the bark, saving him from what surely would have been severe brain damage. Even so, the sergeant's vision blurred a bit, a burst of pain shooting up his back and his arms. In a vain attempt to numb the pain, the sergeant clutched his bleeding stump.

"ROACH!" he heard the lieutenant roar. He craned his neck to look at the man, who was staring at him with worry, his sockets burning brightly behind those sunglasses. Roach turned back to the beast that had ripped him apart, and glared. The thing merely huffed, and began stomping over to him.

Before it could come any closer however, a gunshot was heard. The large creature staggered, a bullet tearing through its calf.

"Fucker!" Ghost taunted, firing round after round at the beast. His own hate rose to match it—no his hate overpowered it. After what had happened in the past, he wasn't about to lose Roach too. He wanted to hear that thing scream in pain.

Anger burning in his veins, Ghost unleashed a wave of lead at the beast with impossible accuracy, nailing it in both calfs, both thighs, the biceps, center-mass, and the left eye. Each bullet tore through its muscles, unyielding in their quest to destroy. The monster's glowing eye burst like a water balloon, its black blood exploding outwards. It staggered and roared in pain, swiping at the air wildly.

Ghost's rifle clicked empty after thirteen shots. Undeterred, he let it hang from its strap, pulling out his sidearm—a Glock 19. At the same time, the creature leapt upon him, pinning him to the ground.

Rather than ripping him apart though, the beast merely stared at the lieutenant as if confused. It sniffed, pondering what it had caught. This wasn't a human nor a faunus, so it wasn't food, but it was attacking, so what was it? Ghost didn't seem to notice the monster's epiphany.

All he saw was the massive monster that stood over him, its single red eye glowing with hate, its body riddled with holes but still active, the disgusting slobber dripping from its mouth. All he knew at that moment was how fucking much this thing NEEDED to DIE.

And as a Ghost, it was his job to haunt it. "I...am NOT GOING TO DIE AGAIN!"

The lights in his sockets became flames as his hate outshined every last creature in the entire forest. He'd fought with terrorists, Roba, Makarov, every last evil man on the Earth one could think of. He'd killed literally thousands of terrorist men and women, and already died once. He was not going to be done in again—especially not by a fucking Hollywood Monsters wannabe.

With strength that the human skeleton should not have, he kicked the creature in the stones as hard as he could muster. The sound of bones breaking was ironic.

Once again the thing howled in pain, releasing the lieutenant's arms. As soon as it did, Ghost's right hand balled into a fist. In a flash, his punch impacted heavily against the beast's armored face, almost completely shattering the bone plate. Relentless in his assault, the lieutenant shot to his feet and twisted the beast's extended arm with both of his hands, then punched in the opposite direction of its elbow joint.

There was a sickening crack as the arm bent in an unnatural angle. The monster fell forward, its damaged face landing directly on the barrel of Ghost's waiting Glock 19. He pulled the trigger, and the beast was no more.

Not waiting to see if the thing was still alive, Ghost holstered the Glock and hurried over to his downed friend.

It was a mess. The bark of the tree as well as the grass beneath Roach had been painted red. Miraculously, the bleeding had stopped, and Roach was still conscious, though writhing in pain.

There was no time to do anything—the oncoming roars of the other beasts reminded them both that they hadn't killed any of the monsters save for that one.

As the beasts began to recover, Ghost hoisted Roach over his shoulder. "C'mon mate, let's get you out of here!"

Shakily, they hobbled away from the danger, Roach silently groaning as spikes of pain lanced through his arm. They made a distance of only thirty meters before they came upon another problem. Ghost cursed aloud as they reached the edge of a cliff, overlooking a river at the bottom, about a hundred meters down. There was no other place to go.

A chorus of growls and howls alerted them, and Ghost looked behind them, Roach unable to do so through his pain.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking with us."

Surrounding them were not only the injured wolf-beasts that they had temporarily neutralized earlier, but there were upwards of twenty more.

"This is not my fucking day," the lieutenant commented. He looked over the cliff again. It was now or never. "Roach, brace yourself!"

Then they jumped.

VVVVV

Decided to do another crossover, this one between RWBY and Call of Duty, specifically Roach and Ghost after their untimely deaths to Shepherd.

So, what do y'all think? Should I go off myself, or should I continue? Let me know in the reviews lads!

Sir Yeetus Deletus, signing off.