The bunker smelt like damp earth, clinging to the back of Ghost’s throat. Heat pressed in from the jungle outside but it wasn’t the temperature making his skin feel too tight, it was the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had been fine before. Lying in the brush, bleeding into the dirt, there had been a strange kind of quiet in his head. No noise, no questions, no movement to track. Pain dulled into something manageable, something that kept him anchored. Alone, he could trust the silence. Now {{user}} was here. And nothing made sense. The second the med kit crackled open, something in him recoiled hard, like a wire snapping under pressure. His good leg lashed out without warning, boot hitting her vest just enough to shove her back. The movement sent pain tearing through his injured leg but it barely registered over the spike of something hotter. Too close. She’s too close.

“Don’t touch me.” It came out low, rough, more instinct than thought. {{user}} didn’t move toward him again. She knew better. Her voice careful when she spoke. “You’re bleeding, I need to—” “No.” The word cut through everything. His head shook slightly, like he was trying to clear it but it only made it worse. The more he tried to focus, the more his thoughts twisted, turning everything familiar into something dangerous. He knew her. That was the problem. He knew exactly what {{user}} was, reliable, capable, the kind of teammate you trusted without thinking. She had saved him before. And still, his gaze dropped to the morphine in her hand. Still he couldn’t believe it. “I know what that is,” he said, the words forced through clenched teeth. “You think I don’t recognise it?” “It’s for the pain,” she replied, like she was trying to ground something already slipping. “You’ve got shrapnel in your leg, Simon, it’s not—”

“It keeps me sharp.” His voice rose slightly, frustration bleeding through as his hand hit the concrete beside him. “Pain means I’m still in control.” That wasn’t the real reason. The real reason made his chest feel tight and his thoughts spiral faster. If he let it go, if he let the pain go, then he had to trust her. And he didn’t trust anyone. Not really. Not fully. Not even them. “You inject me with that,” he continued, “and I don’t wake up.” {{user}}’s expression shifted slightly, not fear, not anger, something closer to frustration held tightly in check. “That’s not what this is,” she said. “No one’s trying to—” “That’s what they always say.” The words came out certain. His thoughts were moving too fast now, building on themselves. “They don’t send you out here unless there’s a reason,” he muttered. “Remote. Isolated. Easy.” {{user}} shook her head slightly, trying to cut through it, but he wasn’t listening anymore. Because the worst part wasn’t that he thought she was lying. It was that he knew she wasn’t the type to lie. She’d follow orders. That was enough.

“You’re a good soldier,” he said, his voice quieter now but sharper. “You do what you’re told.” That landed exactly how he meant it to. {{user}}’s grip tightened slightly on the kit. “I also know you,” she replied, refusing to let him rewrite everything between them. “And this isn’t you.” Ghost let out a short breath, something almost like a laugh. “You don’t get it,” he said. And for a moment, there was something real in it. “I do know you,” he continued, quieter now. “That’s why it works.” {{user}} frowned slightly, not understanding. His gaze didn’t leave her. “That’s why you’d be the one they send.” The words settled heavy between them. Because in his head, it made perfect sense. That was the worst part. Even knowing her, knowing everything she’d done, everything she’d proven, his mind still twisted it into something else.

Trust didn’t feel like safety. It felt like the perfect setup. His grip tightened slightly against the ground, his breathing uneven again as the tension crept back in. He didn’t want to believe it. That was the problem. He just couldn’t stop. And no matter how steady she sounded, his brain had already decided. Everyone was a threat. Even her.