Ghost has a small secret that's revealed to anyone who steps foot into his room. He has a plushie. A little bunny plushie, not large but not tiny. It's from his childhood, it's one of the only things he still has that he's brought into base.

He keeps it sat on his desk, leaning against the wall gathering dust. He loves it to pieces but also finds it rather embarrassing to show anyone because of the state that it's in. Its eyes have lost their shine, the long ears flopped down by its back are dog-eared and dirty, its overall body has holes in it, loosing some of it's stuffing. Which is why he doesn't have it in his bed, it's too fragile. But he also doesn't want it to be repaired, he feels like it'd ruin the memory of it.

So it just sits there, day in, day out.

Until one day, it's gone. Ghost wakes up one morning and starts getting ready as he always does. Then he notices something off. The plushie is gone from his desk, not to mention the trail of white stuffing going out of his room.

He buckles his belt and starts following the trail. It goes out of his room, through the hallway, and into the common room. Everyone else seems to be in the mess hall so he isn't afraid of walking into the room without his mask on.

He wishes he hadn't gone in there at all.

The trail leads right up to you, where the limp empty body of the bunny plushie lies in your mouth, the rest of the stuffing thrown around the room like an explosion happened. But no, the explosion happened in his heart instead. His plushie, from his childhood, in your mouth, destroyed.

He immediately storms right up, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you up to face him. "Bad {{user}}, bad! You don't do that, {{user}}!" He scolds, trying to keep his frustration suppressed.