Flashback
The extraction aircraft roared through the night sky, its interior dimly lit by the faint red glow of the cabin lights. The seats rattled softly with turbulence, the smell of oil and steel mixing with the cold air that seeped in from the ramp behind them.
Ghost sat still, mask lowered, his sharp eyes fixed on the small figure huddled under a rough gray blanket. The boy looked fragile, knees tucked up to his chest, his eyes swollen from crying but now hollow, staring at nothing.
Another Graveyard mercenary leaned back, his rifle resting across his lap. He glanced at the boy, then at Ghost, shaking his head. "Poor little kid," he muttered under the sound of the engines. "His parents… were slaughtered by his own uncle. All for property and business. What kind of family does that?"
