Untouchable | fdom x ghost x konig

✰ | seventeen ;

The first person to hit something other than the sandy gravel of the riverbank was Gaz, his hands shaking from the utter exhiliration of finding something--anything--other than dirt and roots. He called out when the dull sound of wood echoed back, shoveling faster as he unearthed something foreign.

Soap got to his side, slipping against the pebbles in his haste. He yells, relief translating into his brows. A body, that's what they all prayed for. A body, at the very least. For them to bury, for them to mourn. They'd been digging for bare minutes, but hope was already depleted. They knew they were running out of time if they haven't already. The sergeant gets on his hands and knees, discarding his shovel. He moves mounds of dirt with his arms, not caring that it flecked his face with every push.

They don't speak, not when more hands and shovels join their sides. A doctor stands to the side, watching the soldiers. It seems as if he already had lost hope, shaking his head solemnly. The south siders had been under siege, absolutely caught in the crossfire. Everyone was out, injured or hiding, ducking beneath the cover of the task team currently searching for one of their own.

Hard puffs of air are all the sounds the team makes, breathing heavily in their franticness. Adrenaline is the only thing fueling them now, trembling hands and unsteady feet digging earnestly at the ground. Engravings, of branches, trees, and birds. Everyone notices. No one says a thing. The upper half of the coffin is uncovered and Ghost reaches down, slotting both hands against the side of the lid. He pulls with all his might, dislodging soil around the edge revealing padlocks.

Konig slams the shovel down on the locks, inches away from severing the lieutenant's fingers. Not that either of them noticed, the rest of the task team work on unearthing the bottom half. The locks break after a few stabs, the clang of metal sending the doctor running with a nurse trailing behind him. Those in the makeshift camp by the river look in surprise--no one expected to find the lost soldier.

Others look away when the nurse hesitates to bring a medkit.  

Ghost rips the lid open, a groan of exertion leaving him as it lifts up. Konig pushes it the rest of the way, letting the heavy wood flatten itself against the loose dirt.

Skeleton gloves touch her first. Curving around the back of her neck, the other against her side. Gentle, soothing, terrified. Her body is limp and everyone pauses for a second to see her. Someone whispers out a curse. Bound and gagged, eyes closed. Her mic is hanging out of her gear, the receptor splintered on her chest. Her hair spills over her shoulder; her scarf is torn to shreds. Nearly everything was stripped from her beside her basic clothing. In the dying light, she looked incredibly... small.

But she isn't small. She's bold, she's loud, she commands attention. Even since her first day, all eyes were on her in awe. In interest, in curiosity.

Now, they are trying to remember when she had lost so much spark. Was she always like this?

No, the two scream, no, stop forgetting her for how she is now.

Konig calls her name, but there's no reaction on her face. The two males by her side can't seem to stop trembling--with fear, with anxiety, with panic. Blood streaks from her forehead, along with scratches on her arms. Ghost can't seem to tear his eyes away from her until the doctor reaches her side. Small rocks crumble down as he pulls his stethoscope from his shoulder and presses it against her chest. They examine her in the coffin, half held up by her lover's hands. Her other lover cuts the gag from her mouth.

There's blood on her lips.

They hold their breaths as the doctor listens. And listens.

Silence.