Chapter 13: Breakdown

Anchor tried to edge closer to me, while the three Europeans grappled with the wolfhounds in brutal hand-to-paw combat.

The wolfhounds were fierce, but man for man, they weren't gaining any ground. Shouts, dog barks, scuffling, gunfire—it was chaos.

"Let me take a look, Specter. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid—"

I kept backing away, shaking my head. "I'm not afraid. Don't touch me."

Suddenly, someone came running—Bolt, gasping, practically out of his mind as he rushed over.

Seeing him only made me more tense, more afraid.

"Big Brother! Big Brother!" he shouted long before he reached me.

He saw my face smeared with blood, my hand clamped over my left eye, and instantly burst into tears. Bolt froze a few yards away, eyes wide, and the tears poured down his cheeks like rain.

He didn't say a word—just stood there, quietly crying.

"What are you crying for?" Anchor barked.

Bolt glanced at Anchor, stammered, said nothing.

"Specter, if you go down, this mission is finished," Anchor said, agitation in his voice.

I lowered my head.

Castor came sprinting back.

"What happened to Specter?" he asked, winded.

No one answered.

Castor came closer, looked me over. "Bro, where are you hurt?"

Anchor pulled him aside. "Specter, everyone's on their way back. Let me handle your wound before the others get here, okay? Don't make things worse."

Still covering my left eye, I looked at Anchor, then at Castor and Bolt. "I can't lead Ghost Squad anymore. Anchor, you're in command."

"Why?" Castor demanded, voice rising.

"Big Brother, what happened to you?" Bolt sobbed.

"Quit crying—he's not dead yet! What are you crying for?" Castor sounded desperate.

"Shut up!" Anchor snapped.

Buzz soon ran back too.

"What's going on?" he panted, glancing around.

He took one look at me, then the rest. "Bro got hit? Anchor, how could you let that happen? Why isn't he bandaged?"

"Don't just stand there, hurry up. He's losing too much blood."

"Specter, let me look at your wound, please," Anchor kept saying.

At that moment, I felt like a coward. Deep in that pit, the sunlight barely reached, the world was gloomy, and it felt like a heavy blanket was crushing me—pressure, helplessness, fear pressing in from all sides, corroding my courage, breaking my spirit.

Suddenly, a distress signal flared in the distance—by the river.

"Nox!" Castor said, tense.

I saw Nox's signal. I wanted to go help, but inside, something told me I couldn't stay in this place any longer.

"Specter, Nox is in trouble!" Castor insisted.

I nodded numbly.

"Let's get out of here, or we're all dead. Digits," Snow's face appeared inches from mine, her breath cool on my skin.

"Are you real, Snow?" I breathed in, staring at her.

"Castor, Bolt, go get Nox. Buzz, help me with Specter!" Anchor ordered.

But I was still staring at Snow.

She hesitated. "I am real."

"Why can't anyone else see you? Why do you come and go, why can't they hear what you say?" I nearly shouted, on the edge.

Buzz and Anchor lunged for me.

"They're lying to you, Digits. It's all an act. You have to trust me," Snow said.

I looked from Buzz and Anchor advancing to Snow. I stepped back, on reflex.

Buzz lunged, arms out, trying to wrap me up. I kicked at him, he twisted aside, grabbed my legs, trying to bring me down. I hooked his neck with my right arm, swept his legs with my other foot—he lost his balance, and I landed on top of him.

"Don't push me!" I yelled.

"Watch out!" Snow cried.

Suddenly, someone locked me from behind—Anchor, yelling my name with raw desperation.

I thrashed, trying to break free, my right hand pressed hard to Buzz's throat.

Buzz grabbed at my arm, slapping the ground with his free hand. "I give! I give!"

My left hand never left my wounded eye.

I snapped my head back, bashing into Anchor's helmet, again and again.

"I give, Bro, let go!" Buzz kept shouting.

"Ah!" I roared.

I managed to stand, dragging Anchor, who clung on tight, his arms around my torso and legs locked on mine.

I started dragging him backward, aiming to slam us both into the rock wall.

Buzz realized my intent, scrambled up, tried to grab my leg. I circled my right leg out of his reach and stomped his hand into the ground.

"Argh!" Buzz yelped.

I kept moving—Anchor's legs were tangled around me, but I still had space.

I drove my right elbow back, slamming into Anchor behind me, dragging him toward the rock.

"Specter! Specter!" Anchor shouted.

All I wanted was to shake them off and climb out of this hellhole.

Anchor could have let go, but he refused.

"Anchor, let go!" Buzz yelled.

Anchor just held on tighter. The more he clung, the angrier I got. I really could have killed him.

I was almost to the rock wall when another figure sprinted up.

A heavy kick—someone's boot slammed into me, and I couldn't dodge. With Anchor still hanging on, we both toppled.

I tried to get up, but Anchor still clung tight. Before I could rise, someone straddled me, clamped a hand on my forehead, and started punching my face.

"Stop!" Anchor shouted.

The man looked at Anchor, then punched Anchor in the nose.

I tried to grab his arm, but he twisted my hand back, wrenching it hard.

"Ah!" I cried out, finally pulling my left hand off my eye to grab his arm.

He caught my left hand, pinned it to my throat, and went back to pounding my face.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

At last, I couldn't fight anymore. My vision blurred, consciousness fading.

Snow looked at me, her eyes shining with tears.

"Enough!" Buzz tackled the man on top of me and Anchor—Reaper.

Reaper tried to shake him off, landed another punch on me.

Chaos erupted around us—Anchor shouting, Buzz cursing, Bolt sobbing, Castor yelling. Only Reaper was silent, his fists relentless.

"Stop!" Anchor bellowed.

My face a bloody mess, I saw Anchor draw his pistol, pressing it to Reaper's chest.

Reaper froze, his fist in the air, then punched Anchor's gun, blood splattering, and tried to stand.

"Let me go," Reaper said coldly.

Buzz slowly released him.

Reaper stood. Anchor gently freed his arm, knelt before me, voice trembling. "Specter, it's over. You're alright. It's over."

By then, I was barely conscious—drifting in and out.

"Water, get me water!" Anchor called.

Bolt hurried over with a canteen.

Anchor poured water over my face.

I couldn't even feel it. My face was numb.

I was so tired. I wanted to sleep, but the more I tried, the more impossible it became. I watched Bolt sprinkle white powder over my face and eye. The squad huddled around me.

In the distance, Reaper was stripping off soaked clothes, laying them out.

Nox lay beside someone unconscious, long hair, white clothes.

The Europeans sat nearby, eating, staying well away—maybe our brawl had scared them off.

"Your eye's okay," Anchor said as he worked.

I just watched them. Every face was full of worry and frustration.

I tried to smile.

"Don't move," Anchor warned.

"It's... fine. I'll... be alright," I managed to mumble, maybe to comfort them, maybe myself.

"Don't talk. We know," Anchor replied, stitching my eye.

"Specter, open your left eye. As wide as you can."

I tried—could see only black dots, vision full of shadows. But I was lucky to see at all.

Every stitch sent pain from my eye to my face, my neck, my chest, straight into my heart.

After half an hour, Anchor wrapped my eye tight. Then helped me sit up.

"You alright, Nox?" I asked.

Nox quickly nodded. "I'm fine."

"Almost died, but yeah—fine," Reaper said from a distance.

I looked at him. "Where'd you go?"

"The river."

Reaper pulled on a dry shirt. His wet clothes were laid out, neat and precise.