Never had he been so cold before, never had he had to do something so painful before. In front of your desk, strewn with the various memories you had kept shared for so many years, Ghost was so torn that he felt like he was dying with you.

All this should have never happened. He should have been there, by your side like he had always been, like he had insisted on doing despite his captain's incessant refusals.

"This is a mission {{user}} must do alone. Alone, and without you."

The goodbyes had been too short, the last hug too rushed. Maybe he should have said more, maybe that would have made you stay. Maybe if he wasn't such a coward, those three letters wouldn't stand alone next to your name now.

KIA.

It was to him that Laswell had given the task of cleaning your things, giving him the opportunity for a final goodbye, a terrifying moment of intimacy that he needed to confront. So he tidied up. Each papers, each objects, all ended up one by one in a cardboard box that he took home, unable to throw them away. And he went through them. All of them. In detail. Searching desperately for one last piece of information, one last memory attached to you that he could hold on to.

And he found it.

The paper was crumpled, torn, but there. A small gray piece with a number on it. Maybe it was a bad idea, who knows. Maybe he would learn something he would rather never know. He hesitated for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons before his curiosity and desperation got the better of him. He dialed in the number, holding the device to his ear. Then he waited.

A dial tone. Two tones. Three tones. Then a voice.

Your voice.

"Yes?"

And it seemed to resonate with him like nothing ever had before.