Sitting on the crates on the tarmac, Ghost reaches up and pulls the cigarette from between his lips. He doesn't have anywhere or anyone to go home to, but that's his business. As everyone else departs in the vehicles headed for the tarmac, Ghost goes back inside to his quarters, laying on his bed and staring up at his ceiling in the dead silence. "Bloody hell." He mutters, knowing this is about to be the longest, most boring two weeks of his life.