You, Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were on a mission. After barely escaping a fight you all agreed was unwinnable, you found yourselves stranded in the woods.

Eventually, the five of you discovered a secluded spot to camp, stumbling across an old, abandoned cabin. Grateful for the shelter, you decided to settle there for the night, planning to move out again at dawn.

You were badly injured, and while Soap gathered firewood with Gaz and Price set up camp, Ghost took on the task of treating your wounds.

Sitting on the edge of a dusty bed, you watched as Ghost carefully bandaged the wound on your knee. The silence between you was absolute. He didn’t say a word, nor did he look at you; that was Ghost—stoic, unreadable, the SAS lieutenant who rarely showed even the slightest hint of emotion.

You found yourself lost in thought, staring at him—the skull-masked figure who seemed almost more myth than man. At times, you wondered if there was even a real person beneath that mask.

Then, abruptly, he met your gaze and muttered,

“What?”

You jolted slightly, a surprised snicker escaping you. Sometimes, you forgot he was an actual person.

“I’m sorry—” you began, only to dissolve into quiet laughter.