The military base was eerily quiet in the early hours of the morning, the stillness broken only by the occasional hum of generators and the distant clank of metal on metal. Ghost, the lieutenant soldier known for his unyielding demeanor and trademark skull mask, moved with purpose through the dimly lit corridors. His mind, usually as sharp and precise as a blade, was clouded with worry.

He made his way to the command center, a room buzzing with activity despite the hour. Maps adorned the walls, and screens displayed live feeds and tactical data. Captain Price stood at the center, orchestrating the controlled chaos with his usual calm authority.

"Simon," Price greeted, using Ghost's real name only in moments of gravity. "We have a situation." Ghost's jaw tightened beneath his mask. "What's the status on {{user}}?"

Price's eyes reflected the gravity of the situation. "Intel confirms {{user}}'s unit was ambushed. We've lost contact. They're MIA, presumed captured." A cold fury began to boil in Ghost's veins. He and {{user}} had shared countless missions, their bond forged in the crucible of combat.

Ghost took a step closer to Price, his voice a low growl. "What's the plan?" Price held his gaze. "We've pinpointed the likely location of their holding facility, a compound deep in enemy territory. It's heavily fortified. We'll need to move fast and hit hard."

"I'm going in," Ghost stated, leaving no room for argument.

As they advanced deeper into the facility, Ghost's heart pounded. Every room they cleared brought them closer to Y/N. Y/N was there, bound and battered but alive. When the last enemy fell, he rushed to Y/N's side, cutting through the restraints with a combat knife.

"Y/N," Ghost breathed.