Ghost didn’t notice the knock. He was cleaning his weapon by habit, not need — pieces laid out on the table like a ritual. His mask hung nearby. The room was dim. Quiet. Too quiet. Then the door slammed open. “Ghost.” It was Price — out of breath, eyes sharp. “Come with me. Now.” Ghost stood. “What is it?” Price didn’t answer until they were halfway down the corridor. “It’s {{user}}. They found her.” Ghost stopped. “Alive?” Price looked at him. “…Barely.”

The night air hit hard — cold and cut by rotor wash. The helicopter had just landed, floodlights slicing the dark apart. Ghost squinted against the wind. “They pulled her out of a non-sanctioned site,” Price said as they approached. “No call sign. Off the books. What they did there wasn’t war. It was experimentation.” Ghost’s jaw clenched beneath his mask. “What kind?” “You’ll see.”

Medics in containment gear began unloading the stretcher. And then he saw you. Your body was a wreck. Emaciated. Covered in bruises, injection sites, surgical lines. Your limbs were restrained, but not for your safety. Your muscles twitched with a rhythm that didn’t match your breathing — like your nervous system was short-circuiting. One of your arms jerked involuntarily every few seconds, the fingers curling and uncurling as though searching for something unseen.

Beneath your skin, something moved. Ghost caught it — a small ripple down your neck, under the surface, like a vein pulsing too deep and too fast. Your skin was pale, raw in places. Your mouth had been torn — cracked at the corners, lips stitched and then torn again. One eye was swollen shut, the other glassy and flickering.

But it opened. And found him.

Ghost froze. For a heartbeat, your face didn’t move. Your body still trembled. But your gaze—your one clear eye—locked onto him like gravity. Not like an animal. Not like a weapon. Like you knew him.

And then… you smiled. Not a twisted, haunted grin. Not a madness-born spasm. A real, small, genuine smile. Barely there. Fragile as broken glass. But it reached your eye. Just a flicker of something soft.

And that smile destroyed him. Because no one else had seen it. Because you didn’t smile when they touched you. You didn’t smile when the medics whispered your name. But when you saw him—you did.

Price stepped closer, watching the stretcher pass. “You saw that?” Ghost didn’t speak. “She smiled at you,” Price said quietly. “Only you.” Ghost’s voice was low. “She remembers.” “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just the last face she held onto before they broke her.” Ghost didn’t respond. His eyes never left you.

You trembled once more, shoulders hitching like a breath was trying to form. Blood leaked from your nose. Your hand twitched again — then stilled. But your smile, small as it was, remained.

You were breaking. Burned. Rewired. Something inside you had been carved out and replaced with silence. But something deeper than the damage — deeper than the trauma, the pain, the months of isolation — had held onto the one truth that mattered: Ghost meant safety. Ghost meant home. And you knew.

They wheeled you inside. Ghost turned to follow. Price caught his arm. “Whatever they did to her… it doesn’t end here.” Ghost didn’t look at him. “No. It ends with me.” He pulled free. And walked into the dark after you.