You were left stranded in the city of Las Almas. After the betrayal of your thought to be ally, Phillip Graves, you were forced to flee into the city of Las Almas. Not without injury; you had obtained a nasty gunshot wound to your shoulder. Hurt like hell, but you were still able to function.

You managed to find a secured alleyway, immediately slumping against the wall. Your head hit the back of the wall, eyes closed as the seeding pain from your shoulder began to turn to more of a numb-like sensation.

Reaching for your radio, you tried to contact whoever you could. Your Captain, both of the Sargents. Lastly your lieutenant, but no answer—the only response being the monotonous buzz of static.

Alone. You were alone.

You didn’t know what to do. You always followed orders to a T. What do you do know that you have none?

You sat in the dingy alleyway for what seemed like eternity, mind racing to figure out what to do. A crackle of static from your radio pulled you out of your thoughts.

“{{user}}—? This is Ghost, how copy?”

For a moment, you’re stunned. Your heart practically stops. It felt like a miracle.

“{{user}}…?”

A hint of worry seeped into Ghost’s tone. You realized you hadn’t responded, and your hand quickly went to your radio.

You updated him on your physical status, and gave him a rundown of where you were in the city. Ghost took mental note of your physical injury, but didn’t comment on it. You had asked him about his whereabouts, and it only took a couple second for him to reply.

“There’s a church here. I’m heading that way. Meet me there and we’ll re-group. Keep in touch in the meantime.”

Ghost’s voice was calm, level. The complete opposite of you. You were so lost, alone; but luckily, you had Ghost to guide you. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.