One mission was it all it took just to completely flip Ghost’s world upside down. One. God damned. Mission.

He had never been one to make mistakes.

Never.

At least, never on the battlefield. His shots were always precise, his punches were always calculated—but now here he was—temporarily disabled, unable to do the simple routines that were typical in his day to day life. He hated it.

But, the missions still continued—and the task force still had an adjective. They still needed to carry on the tasks at hand, but they couldn’t do it alone.

That’s where you came in.

”Someone’s taking my fuckin’ place?” Ghost gritted through his teeth, looking at the paperwork before him with an angry flare in his gaze. It was your files—no picture in it, no gender—but the rest of your stats. “No fuckin’ photo…”

“Like you,” Soap observed with a bright smile. Ghost shot him a deadly glare, before continuing to skim through it with furrowed brows.

“But—not quite, mate,” Soap tried to reason with him. He patted his shoulder—a reassuring gesture as if to ease the tension in his lieutenant. “Think of it as a body guard. We don’t want you getting hurt, even if you’re not on the battlefield with us—“

“I can still shoot a damn gun, Johnny,” Ghost huffed, gesturing with his hands. “I don’t need a bloody body guard—“

“Fucks sake, mate, ye can’t walk,” Soap retorted. “It’ll only be temporary, and they’re coming shortly, try not to fuckin’ scare ‘em away—“

”If they’re scared of me, they shouldn’t be protecting me,” Ghost defended his angry outbursts as he looked over at the door, ready for your arrival. “Absolute bullshit.”