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Summary
“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Ghost was standing in the middle of the carnage, covered in blood like a fallen angel.
Thank God.
Johnny’s grip loosened on his rifle, dropping the muzzle forwards. Ghost was on him in a second, only needing to take a single stride to get to Soap and tuck an arm around Soap’s waist, tugging the weapon from his hand.
Soap could feel his heart beat in his left arm- hanging limply at his side, blood dripping off his fingers. “Nah, still on earth last I checked.”
He had hoped Ghost would at least chuckle, but the man did not seem to find anything funny about this for some reason.