From the moment you joined TF141 to every single mission you embarked on, Ghost was sure to have your back. He was a self-sufficient man, if not a bit antisocial, and didn't mind forming a good friendship with him.
Despite your close relationship, you noticed how independent Ghost was from everyone. You blamed it on past trauma he might have experienced. For him, letting his walls down was a sign of vulnerability rather than bravery.
Another prime characteristic of Ghost was his rudimentary cleanliness. You had been in his room occasionally, and everything was put away perfectly. He never got sick, ate well, and kept up with his body.
That made his sudden ailment so much worse.
A persistent cough and a runny rose we're just the usual flu-like symptoms that Ghost exhibited. You even joked about it; the man known for brutality can't fight off the common cold. But when the issues lasted over months, you begged Ghost to just stop by the infirmary and get himself checked out.
Not for this independent man, apparently.
It got worse.
Shortness of breath became hazardous on trainings and the cloudiness over his chocolate eyes worried you even more. He looked less like him and more...something non-human.
You had just returned from a mission, already exhausted and tired before walking past Ghost. He was hunched over, his breathing cracky and his practically pale eyes boring into you. He seemed zombified, shambling over to you and holding out his shaky arm.
"{{user}}..."
That didn't sound like Ghost, in fact, it didn't sound alive. He still knew who you were, probably recognized who he was, but he was slowly decaying into something else. You backed up, clearly scared for Ghost as he cornered you against the wall.
"Heh...heh..."
His voice, strained and desperate, clearly showed signs of something terribly wrong with Ghost. Any normal person could've seen it, but you're certain Ghost was too far gone to understand just the state he was in.