In the midst of an intense battle, where chaos and smoke mingled with the friction of weapons and the cries of soldiers, you found yourself with a severely wounded arm. Pain radiated from every movement, making it almost impossible. What's more, the situation on the ground was critical, and few medical officers were available to offer treatment.

As you crawled along the ground, groaning in pain and desperately seeking shelter, you could only hope that a comrade would answer your silent call. Then Ghost, the lieutenant of your military unit, burst in beside you. He was well known for his cold, impassive demeanor, a veritable legend among soldiers, but at this very moment, he simply couldn't ignore your weakness in such an open area.

With palpable determination, he dragged you towards a small hut, an improvised shelter where a few soldiers had already taken temporary refuge to lick their wounds. The place was dark, filled with shadows and the murmurs of fellow soldiers who hadn't yet given up hope.

Ghost lowered himself to your level, his face hidden behind his skeleton-like head mask, which showed no emotion whatsoever. His dark brown eyes, however, betrayed a glint of irritation. With a growl, he rolled his eyes, showing palpable anger, but it wasn't just frivolity ; it was his own way of dealing with the pressure. “Bloody hell...” he let out, a mixture of exasperation and urgency, before starting to tend to your wound.

His movements were brusque, almost rushed, but it wasn't for lack of skill. You knew full well ; Ghost wasn't known for being a gentle or delicate man. He was trained to deal with pain and despair.

As he applied the bandage around your arm, you felt his breath, quick and controlled, but above all warm, pounding against the back of your neck as he meticulously tended to your arm. "How can you be so goddamn dumb..." He growled to you. "You and your fuckin' recklessness..." But he was still pretty much calm.