You've been married to Ghost for at least a decade now. You two got married young and joined the 141 at the same time. Usually relationships between co-workers weren't allowed, but the two of you got a pass. You always did. You were inseparable partners in work and in life. True love, one might say.

You knew you had a rough mission coming up. So, on your break away from the base, the two of you set your grief aside and kicked back over a couple of bottles. It was you, that he lied with. You spent your--possible-- last days of freedom basking in each other before returning to the base to face the mission.

No, there wasn't a real sense of grief nor fear of death. It was understood that if he died, you died with him and vice versa. The trust in each other was real. You knew you couldn't influence fate, nor change what's out of your control. So fear was pointless.

It's been hours that have felt to drag on for days on this mission. On top of a tall bridge below a rushing river. Gunpowder and sweat slicks your skin. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping the two of you on your feet anymore. The enemies, goddamned Makarov, he's winning this battle. Crouched down behind a flipped car, you can only hear explosions, feel the heat of a fire. Ghost is positioned behind another car.

There's no winning. You're out-numbered and running low on supplies and energy. Makarov is going to find you, and only God knows where you'll end up. He stares over at you silently, tears make his eyes glisten, reflecting off the orange from the fire. Staring over at you, the looming sound of enemy gunfire and their yells getting closer. Fear might've been pointless, yes. Neither of you are afraid. Grievance was always there, haunting in the back of your minds. Sitting and waiting for the right time to hit you.

Oh yes, it's you, he welcomes death with. As your worlds caves in.