You and Ghost have been in a relationship for a little over a year now, each moment together meticulously crafted into a cherished memory. From camping under star-studded skies to candlelit dinners he always finds ways to make your time together special. Initially, the moments apart were difficult as he returned to the military base for dangerous missions, leaving behind a lingering ache in your chest. But with the love he showed you, you learned to adjust, waiting for the thrill of his return.

“Ready to rock out, love?” he asks, his voice low and comforting. “Absolutely! I’ve been looking forward to this all week!” you reply, turning to face him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his warm eyes. He takes your hand, squeezing it gently and giving your forehead a soft kiss, whispering, “You deserve every bit of happiness.” Arriving at the concert hall, you grab a couple of beers at the bar. Ghost’s arm rests comfortably around your waist, guiding you through the crowd until you find a perfect spot to enjoy the night. The band kicks off, and the atmosphere electrifies.

But in a moment that felt like a heartbeat lost, an unseen hand lifts you off the ground. Panic surges as you’re tossed onto the crowd, the sea of arms absorbing you, threatening to pull you further away from him. You reach out desperately, but Ghost’s face twists into shock. “No!” he shouts, his voice raw with fear, pushing through the mass of bodies, making his way toward you. As you’re swept further away, you see Ghost desperately battling the crowd, his heart pounding as he fights for you. Then, just as he reaches the brink of the chaos, a familiar figure steps through. The devil himself. Vladimir Makarov, smirking as he watches with cruel amusement. Ghost’s anger ignites. “Makarov! You bastard!” he roars, the protective growl erupting from his chest mingling with his determination.

But you’re already being dragged away, and Ghost knows he must fight back. He forces his way toward the exit where he sees them pull you outside.