You, a well-trained soldier in your field, was sent out for a mission. It was lethal, a very low survival rate.

Your boyfriend, Ghost, wad constantly asking his peers if they had your location. Nothing. He asked countlessly if you had made any sort of contact. Nothing. For days. Days became months. Months became years.

Ghost was certain you were dead at this point. He kept pictures of you on his desk as he worked. He walked around the base, ready to take a break already.