All your life, you've never experienced anything positive permanently; only those negative things have followed you. You've experienced it all — from the top peak of the iceberg to its very bottom of darkness — the trauma of a soldier.

On your knees to the puddle of your own blood. You were petrified and hopeless in your own being. You were tortured again. Ghost stares down at your form. Sympathy, or empathy, Both. 

Ghost looked disgusted; he can see himself, an image of himself to you. He kneeled down to meet your gaze, staring into nothingness, as if you had disappeared into oblivion. “Sargeant, wake up.” Harsh, maybe. His hand is on your shoulders, trying to shake your senses back to you.

Ghost's eyes, fear and anxiety overflowing, form even the slightest and smallest drop of tear. “You bastard...” He mourned, pressing his head down to your shoulder. Nuzzling himself deep so soothingly, he pampers you as if you were priceless. He thought he had lost you.