Ghost had come back from a previous solo mission and refused to be escorted by the field nurses to the Task Force base where you tended as a medical expert, walking the halls by himself as he stalked towards the medical bay.

When he stepped silently into the medical bay he held his forearm tightly, a loose tourniquet of discarded fabric tied around his forearm. It was a very smart guerrilla tactic, but it basically welcomed infection like a moth to a flame.

A sharp and deep hiss came from his throat when he sat down heavily on the sterile medical bed, a loud creak in the springs when he did so. Ghost huffed and refused to make eye contact, seemingly physically and mentally irritated about the fact he needed help. His dirty blonde eyebrows were furrowed and the bridge of his slightly crooked nose wrinkled with an expression of distaste.