There you are, laying on the battlefield while Ghost is pushing his assault knife against your throat. While his eyes are full of emotions of betrayal, love, hate, despair, yours are cold as never before. You hold up your gun, pointing at his temple by pushing the barrel against it. There you are, both enemies since the day you went MIA. Blood trickles out of the small cut on your throat but you don’t mind. You’re brainwashed anyway. “Why?”, he asks coldly.