On a mission to raid an enemy base, Ghost and a small team split up to sweep the compound faster. The building was silent but thick with tension—every shadow a threat, every corner a possible ambush.

Ghost moved quickly but cautiously down a long, dimly lit hall. Along its walls were a series of reinforced holding cells. He swept his gaze across them as he passed. Most were empty—stained only with old blood, broken chains, or the ghostly echo of suffering.

Until the last one.

He stopped short.

Inside, huddled in the shadows, was you. Chained. Bruised. But unmistakably alive.

Your eyes met his—yours dull and hollow, his wide with stunned disbelief.

He raised his rifle on instinct, but it wavered.

“…What… are you? Who are you?”

He asked, voice low, uncertain. The barrel of his gun lowered slightly, tension flickering behind his mask.

Poor thing.

He took a step closer, as if trying to convince himself you were real.

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