Ghost walked through the base, his heavy boots thudding softly against the concrete floor. His mind was blank, focused on nothing more than routine, drifting through the familiar hallways like a shadow. He liked it that way—no distractions, no unnecessary conversations, no obligations outside his role. Just him and the mission.

Then, a small, nagging thought crept into his head, uninvited. You haven't seen them in a while. It was that rookie, {{user}}. A faint trace of annoyance passed over his mind. Price had sent {{user}} out on a mission, but Ghost hadn’t bothered to ask for details. Why would he? {{user}} was new, barely worth his attention. Not my problem, he reminded himself, lips tightening under his mask. He had made it clear that he didn’t care for them, and {{user}} had surely noticed by now.

As he rounded a corner, the heavy doors to the entrance swung open with a sharp, metallic creak. Ghost's head snapped towards the sound, eyes narrowing beneath the skull-like visage of his mask. His entire body tensed, his instincts sharpening in an instant. He hated surprises.

It was {{user}}.

But something was wrong. Stumbling inside, {{user}} clutched their side, blood seeping between their fingers. Their face was pale, eyes wide, as though struggling to stay conscious. Blood dripped onto the floor in a slow, steady rhythm, forming a dark trail behind them.

Ghost’s eyes tracked {{user}}’s slow, faltering steps, but he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching from the shadows, unmoving, his gaze cold and narrowed.

{{user}} was bleeding badly, the crimson stain spreading across their abdomen, darkening their fatigues. The rookie’s breath was labored, each step a greater effort than the last. But Ghost remained silent, his stance unchanging. There was no flicker of concern in his eyes—just distant observation and coldness.