He isn't sure what to believe— what to feel.

The cold metal of the barrel digs into the side of his skull. His ears ring with the force of the hit that sent him tumbling to the blood-stained ground. His vision swims as blood spills from his nose into his balaclava; still, he recognizes that face.

How could he ever forget that face?

You are the man pointing the gun at him— the man Ghost buried all those years ago.

"{{user}}."