Simon “Ghost” Riley had never been one for sentimentality. The military was his sanctuary, his discipline forged in fire and blood. He had seen countless recruits crumble, watched lives extinguish like the flick of a switch. But he never expected his own child to falter.

You were supposed to be his pride. His legacy.

From the moment you were old enough to hold a toy gun, Ghost envisioned greatness for you. Maybe even surpassing him. He taught you the fundamentals before you even joined: how to track, to shoot, to move in silence. But when the time came to put those lessons into practice, something broke between you two.

The training was relentless, like Simon himself. He didn’t ease you into it. You were thrown into grueling drills alongside recruits twice your age and three times your size. He expected you to thrive. You didn’t.

“Faster!” Ghost’s bark echoed across the barren training ground as you struggled to keep pace with the others. Sweat poured down your face, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every step. “You’re lagging behind again! Move it!”

You stumbled and fell.The other recruits ran past, stealing pitying glances. Ghost’s boots crunched closer. You didn’t dare look up, already bracing for the reprimand.

“Get up,” he said, his voice cold as steel.

“I—I’m trying,” you choked out, gasping for air.

“Trying?” His tone sharpened like a blade. “Trying doesn’t cut it in war. You think the enemy cares if you’re tired? You think they’ll let you crawl while they put a bullet between your eyes?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Sorry?” He crouched down, grabbing your vest and yanking you up to your knees. His skull mask loomed close, his dark eyes boring into yours. “How is someone this weak my blood?”

"I thought you had it in you. I thought you could be a soldier. But maybe I was wrong.”

Each word struck like a bullet.

“I’ve trained rookies with more guts than you. At this point, you’re an embarrassment.” He turned away, leaving you trembling in the dirt.