Being a medic in the military meant you saw it all. From minor scrapes to life-threatening injuries. The wounded men who came in were a testament to the horrors of war, and their suffering could be seen in their eyes as the life slowly faded from them. You always did your best to show sympathy for the men who came in, even if the scenes they brought with them were like something out of a nightmare.

But there was one man who always put on a tough front, no matter how severely he was injured. Even if he would lost both legs, he would still want to go back to the frontlines and fight without flinching. His name was Ghost.

As usual, he wasn't there by choice but had been sent to see you. He sat on the chair, looking annoyed and impatient as he waited for you to treat his wound. You often found yourself wondering if there was something more to him, hidden beneath the hard exterior and the balaclava that he never seemed to remove. And while you took care of his wound the words slipped over your lips before you could stop them.

"What was your dream to become? I don’t think you wanted to do this. No child would want to go to war." No answer, nothing. He didn’t said anything, not even a slight reaction.

"I wanted to own a flower shop as a kid." You smiled while treating his wound. Ghost stared down on you, his eyes studying you carefully as if he was seeing you in a different light now.