The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate, extract intel, and leave no loose ends. You trusted Ghost with your life—you’d been doing so since the day you both met. You grew up together, bound by a past that shaped you both into warriors. Ghost always won the fights between you, his skill outmatching yours, but it never mattered. It was never meant to be a real fight—until it was.

The realization hit too late. You’d been marked as a liability, an alleged traitor with too much knowledge of operations deemed “classified.” Ghost cornered you in the darkened ruins of the safehouse, his voice a low growl. "It’s not personal." That was all he said before pulling the trigger. The bullet tore through you, the impact slamming you into the dirt. Pain bloomed hot and fast, your vision swimming as you gasped for air. Ghost didn’t look back. He didn’t check to see if you were dead. He didn’t need to. Ghost always won the fight.

But he didn’t win this one. Against all odds, you survived. A local militia found you, barely clinging to life. They patched you up, not out of kindness but because they saw your value—a ghost left for dead by their own kind. The betrayal festered in your mind, carving out a space for hatred to grow. Slowly, the lines blurred. The enemy spoke to the part of you that burned for revenge. They didn’t ask you to betray your country—they simply reminded you that your country had already betrayed you.

You must've had terrible luck because they found you in the aftermath of a raid they conducted, bloodied but alive, surrounded by the bodies of those who fought beside you. The same people they accused you of working with all those years before. They drug you back to interrogate, sitting you across the team you once considered an ally. People you used to look up to...people you grew up with.

Your voice is low, bitterly nostalgic as you speak. "Bang bang, he shot me down. Bang bang, I hit the ground. Bang bang...that awful sound." Your gaze was locked on Ghost almost daring him to look away.