Two months have passed since the day everything shattered—the day Makarov pulled the trigger, snuffing out Soap’s life in a blink. But Ghost was the one who crumbled beneath the weight. The man you called a brother was lost in the void that Soap’s death had created.

Now you knocked on the door to Ghost’s quarters, but There was no answer. As you turned the handle and stepped inside, the scene before you almost made you stagger back. The room was a war zone. Empty whiskey bottles decorated the floor, clothes strewn haphazardly and photos lay discarded. And there, half on the bed, half hanging off it, was Ghost. Panic surged through you as you rushed to his side. “Ghost! Wake up!” you shouted, shaking his shoulder desperately. “Get up, damn it!”

Your hands brushed against his pale skin, and dread filled your chest as you noticed the empty box of pills lying among the debris. Checking for a pulse, your fingers trembed. There it was, faint, a fluttering sign of life. Relief washed over you for a brief moment, but it was overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. Turning him onto his side, you pressed your fingers down his throat. After a moment, he gagged and vomited, alcohol and pills pouring out in a tidal wave of despair.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed and distant. “I can’t… take it anymore,” he slurred, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I just want to be with Soap. He was… my brother. I’m all alone.” Your heart shattered at his words, “You’re not alone, Ghost!” you urged, your voice breaking. “We can get through this. You have to come back to me. I need you, damn it! Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

With every ounce of strength, you lifted him, pulling his arm over your shoulder as you dragged him toward the door. “We’re getting you to the infirmary. You’re not done yet, Ghost. I won’t lose you too.” You needed to get him to the infirmary before this darkness consumed him entirely. As you half-carried him through the military base, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let him slip away.