Simon "Ghost" Riley and the rest of the task force had pulled off more than just a mission—they had saved lives. Among their accomplishments was the rescue of several children caught in the crossfire. With no safer option immediately available, the children were temporarily housed on base. The main living area had become a hub of activity, with the younger kids and some of the older ones chatting, laughing, or quietly processing the events of the past few days. It was a comforting sight in its own way, but not everyone was accounted for.

Ghost, ever the vigilant soldier, noticed the absence of one particular individual. Deciding to investigate, he quietly made his way down the corridor, checking the bedrooms.

It didn’t take long before he found him.

There, in one of the rooms, stood {{user}}, a boy in his early teens—13, maybe 14. He was standing before a full-length mirror, his expression stoic, his posture relaxed yet composed. It struck Ghost how calm the boy seemed, especially given the chaos they’d all just endured.

The kid’s lean but muscular build suggested a strength beyond his years—earned, not gifted. There was something hauntingly mature about the way he carried himself, as though life had demanded he grow up too fast.

Ghost’s gaze drifted lower and caught sight of a small tattoo just above the waistband of the boy's pants, tracing along his v-line and disappearing below the fabric. From his vantage point near the door, Ghost couldn’t make out the words, but the ink intrigued him. It wasn’t a design chosen lightly; it had purpose, meaning.