You’d been like sunlight when you first arrived.
Eager to train. Always smiling. Always talking about how proud you were to finally wear the uniform, to do something that mattered, to serve and protect. Ghost had seen rookies like you before. Bright sparks who thought war was a noble story they’d finally been written into. But you were different, somehow. Your positivity wasn’t naïve, it was… steadying. Even for him.
On the trucks, you’d crack small jokes to lighten the tension. On drills, you’d grin even when you were out of breath. It wasn’t forced. You were simply glad to be there.
Then came your first mission.
And when you returned, you weren’t the same.
The mission had been a success on paper. Intel gathered, objectives cleared, team returned. Price wrapped it in his gravelly voice, signed off the reports, and dismissed everyone.
Everyone dispersed. Soap and Gaz lingered outside the briefing room, trading quiet words before peeling off. They didn’t joke. Didn’t nudge shoulders or grin like they usually did after a clean op. Instead, they gave you a wide berth. Not unkind, just space.
You walked past them without a word, eyes fixed on the floor, helmet dangling loosely from one hand. Your face was pale, drained, expression blank in a way Ghost noticed instantly.
It wasn’t the same rookie he’d trained.
The same rookie who had bounced at every drill, eager to learn, who’d smiled wide just to be part of the team, thrilled to finally do their part for king and country. That rookie had light in their eyes.
This one had only a thousand-yard stare.
Later, Ghost found you alone in the mess, tray untouched. You sat stiff, shoulders hunched, staring at the grey wall like it might open and swallow you whole.
Soap passed by, tray in hand, gave you a quick pat on the shoulder and kept walking. Gaz paused as if he might sit beside you, then seemed to think better of it, settling across the room instead.
Ghost watched it all carefully. They weren’t shutting you out. They were protecting you. Giving you time.
But Ghost hated not knowing why.
He found Price later, in his office, the man hunched over paperwork and a half burnt cigar.
“What happened to my rookie?” Ghost asked.
Price looked up, studied him for a long moment. He didn’t answer immediately, just tapped ash into the tray. Finally, he sighed.
“Kid lost his best friend. The rookie from our delta position.”
Ghost stilled.
“They enlisted together,” Price went on, voice low. “Joined for the same reasons. Laughed their way through boot camp, never more than a few steps apart. Today… that ended.”
The weight of it pressed heavy. Ghost leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “Christ.”
Price nodded, eyes shadowed. “He was right beside him when it happened. Quick. Brutal. Nothing anyone could’ve done to change it.”
Ghost was silent for a long moment. “Explains the look. Both of them died out there. But only one stopped breathing.”
Price exhaled smoke through his nose, weary. “Let him have space. He’ll come to us when he’s ready.”
Ghost shook his head slowly. “Not if he’s anything like me. Space turns into silence. Silence turns into rot.” He pushed off the wall, jaw set. “I’ll handle it.”
Price didn’t stop him.
Ghost found you again that night, sitting outside near the motor pool. The air was cold, stars sharp against the black sky. You sat hunched, elbows on your knees, staring at nothing.
He lowered himself onto the step beside you. No words at first. After a while, he said quietly, “Price told me.”