3 months, 15 days, 18 hours, and 22 minutes. That's how long it had been since you'd last seen Ghost.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, the love of your life. He had been sent on high stakes undercover mission. It was by no means, supposed to be his hardest or most dangerous mission. On the contrary, he was confident in his abilities to successfully complete it.

All that had gone down the drain when Ghost stopped contacting Laswell. The 141 had used every tool at their disposal to try and find Ghost—including ambushing the facility he had been sent to. There was no luck, the building was empty.

Every trail they followed was a dead end, and every time they came back empty handed you could feel yourself breaking even more. The nights were long and sleepless, cold and unnerving without Ghost's strong and comforting arms wrapped around you. Not like his were any better though.

3 months, 15 days, 18 hours, and 22 minutes. That's how long Ghost had been held and tortured for until the enemy decided he was more work than he was worth. They had thrown his body into a wooden coffin, tossing it into the ground and piling on the dirt. Except, Ghost wasn't dead. He woke up painfully, like usual, his brows furrowing when he was met with the sight of flimsy wood—quickly realizing what was happening.

Immediately, Ghost started attacking the wood, kicking and punching. The only thought running through his mind was you. He had to get back to you—the only person who made life worth living. He had come back to life once already, he could do it again, right?

Ghost fought desperately, splintering the wood above him, clawing through the loose dirt—digging himself out of the grave like he had done all those years ago. He had finally crawled out, his tortured body coated with dirt and filth, more black and blue than pale white skin. Ghost collapsed onto the ground, coughing around the soil in his lungs. Ghost swore he could hear your voice, and just before his vision went black—he looked up to see your desperate face above him.