Summary: The things we can be reminded of.
Warnings: Goodness me, het! Character death.
Disclaimer: Free Radical's, bless their soul.
In his tiny bedroom in his tiny apartment block in a big building that housed big numbers, Ghost sat at his computer, slowly typing something letter by letter.
He had played his part and he knew he was a hero. Corporal Hart has said so herself and had done so with an amount of enthusiasm that was too large to be fake. Yet Ghost knew that it was because of his pale skin and his cool manner that she had not been able to see that he was in fact, in a state of despair.
If Chastity had had the fortune to know where that shot was being aimed, she would be here with him at this very moment. And as the realisation that she was never coming back slowly sank into Ghost's brain, he wanted more than anything to hold her again.
The screen was bright and the words contained within blinked and winked at him, encouraging, cheerful and badly spelled:
hEY, how did thE mISSHun go???? :) :)
Ghost stopped typing and turned his head, not really registering anything that lay before him, until his eyes ran over the digital camera they had used for the mission. He must have taken it with him.
Upon turning it on he was greeted with several shots of her lovely face, her beaming smile and all the rest of it. Remnants of the past. She must have decided to mess around when they should have been concentrating on the task at hand. And he thanked her for it.
They were heroes, at least they were on the web – because he knew the possibility of being found and persecuted by the police was all too real. But now without her, he'd have to do it all on his own, and it already felt bleak and empty.
On the screen he clicked the 'SEND' button, his finished message, one that was so short, but full of emotion:
Chastity Detroit is Dead.