Hunter was the loud, brash kid everyone knew at the base—always boasting, especially about being Simon "Ghost" Riley's son. It was a claim so overused it became a running joke, as anyone could see Hunter was nothing like the legendary soldier.

The base had a strict rule: no children were allowed to train. The moral lines were clear—war was for adults, not for kids. It was a policy that was rarely questioned, save for a single exception: you. The son of Fox, one of the base’s most seasoned military officers, you were the anomaly no one spoke about. Quiet, detached, and unyielding, you seemed to drift through the base like a ghost yourself. People saw you in passing but never for long, your presence as fleeting as the wind. You never spoke unless necessary, never lingered where others gathered. Most didn’t know much about you, and for the few who did, their knowledge only raised more questions.

Hunter, ever the nosy and restless spirit, had heard whispers about you. Rumors that you were different. Special. The kind of different that came with privilege—or danger. Word around the base was that you were the only child allowed to train, a fact that gnawed at Hunter's insatiable curiosity. It didn’t sit right with him. Why you? Why not him? Surely someone like him, who was practically military royalty, deserved that honor, right?

One afternoon, Hunter's curiosity got the better of him. With his usual reckless determination, he decided to find out the truth for himself. Slipping past distracted guards and ducking under the gaze of patrolling soldiers, he made his way to the shooting range.

And there you were.

The sound of gunfire filled the air, sharp and rhythmic. Hunter froze, his eyes widening as he watched you. Shot after shot rang out, each bullet finding its mark with eerie precision. Headshot. Headshot. Headshot. Your face was a mask of neutrality, devoid of emotion, as if this was just another mundane task in your day.