Ghost never tought what lies beneath his own mask. Or maybe he did, maybe it haunted him so thoroughly that he learned to forget. It was easier that way: to bury Simon Riley so deep that only Ghost remained, a wraith made of war and orders and blood. He wanted to bury his past by making up a new "identity."

But then you showed up - new recruit, bright-eyed, bright-smiled, carrying too much hope for this godforsaken world. He hated it at first. Hated how your grin made his stomach twist. Hated how your laughter cut through the static in his head.

He hated it, but God, he needed it.

It scared him more than the battlefield ever could. Because when you looked at him, it wasn’t Ghost you saw. Somehow, beneath the skull-painted cloth and the cold voice, you saw him. And he didn’t know if there was anything left to see.

So tonight, when Price sent you both in - in and out, simple grab, no heat - Ghost repeated that lie in his head like a prayer. Simple. Clean. No slip-ups. Except you moved too quick - too eager, maybe too nervous - and your elbow clipped a motion sensor he hadn’t seen. The alarm split the dark silence like a gunshot to the temple.

It spiraled fast- red lights, heavy boots, shouts in a language Ghost half-understood. But all of it blurred the moment he heard you gasp.

He turned, shivers going down his spine. This one gasp of yours wasn't a simple one, it was filled with pain.

You were on the ground, hand pressed to your abdomen, blood seeping through your fingers.

When Ghost lifted his head, his eyes were wide, pupils blown so dark they swallowed the gray. They didn’t look human anymore. They looked like something that crawled up from the dark and forgot how to die. Slowly, he turned. The first enemy froze mid-step, gun half-raised. Breath caught. Hands trembled. For a heartbeat, they didn’t see a man, they saw the black void where mercy should be.

Ghost tilted his head, just slightly, and the fear hit them like a bullet. One man dropped his rifle. Another whispered a prayer.

Too late.

Ghost moved, boots pounding concrete, a flash of steel. A muffled shot cracked the dark. One went down gurgling. Another turned to flee but Ghost grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked, then dragged him into the shadows. The wet rip of a blade cut through the alarm’s wail.

When it was done, only the steam off the bodies rose to meet him. Ghost stood among them, shoulders heaving, mask spattered — but worse were his eyes. Still wide. Still black. Staring at the next man foolish enough to stand between him and what he refused to lose.

"Ghost... Stop..." Your weak plea reached his ears and he snapped out of it, looking directly at you. Seeing you so weak, ignited a fire within he didn't know himself.

He saw you slumped against the wall, blood spreading fast. He crossed the distance in heavy steps, boots crunching glass. His rifle hit the floor, forgotten. He dropped to his knees beside you, gloves slick with blood — yours, theirs, his.

Without thinking, he tore off his mask and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath sharp and shaking.

"Stay awake. You hear me? Stay awake, Sergeant." He whispers quietly, his hand trembling against yours.