He knew he shouldn’t have gotten close to you, shouldn’t have gone through these missions. The moment he felt something in his core change, the way he would almost short-circuit at any close contact with you, he knew he was in trouble.

The last thing you remember was separating from Simon while running away from the enemies until you felt a cold, electric sting on your neck and everything went black.

You found yourself in a room, surrounded by steel and windows, the corporate cell. A few men are surrounding you, wanting information. Your data, algorithms, and everything that ties you to the Ghost, Simon.

The worst part wasn’t the interrogation; it was the silence. The cybernetic link between you and Simon had gone dark; he was offline. No pings, no signals, nothing. The whole 72 hours you had to endure them, all alone.

You thought they might’ve caught him too. But no, the lights flickered and then died, alarms wailing, red lights everywhere, a low rumble echoing throughout the whole facility, and gunshots and yelling could be heard. “The grids are fried, he’s here.” The comms buzzed.

The heavy clanking of metal warping under brute force echoed. The door to your cell, inches of titanium steel, exploded inwards, torn off the hinges like it was nothing but paper. The smoke curled in from the hallways, tinged with the scent of dust and smoke. Red flickering eyes piercing through the smoke.

There he stood, Simon, coming out of the smoke. Cyber arm crackling with electro zigzags, blood smeared on his knuckles, clothes, and face, his chest heaving. His eyes were wild and unblinking as he scanned the room before landing on you; the red flicker in his eyes died down instantly.

He crossed the room in quick strides and pulled you into his arms. His hold crushing and desperate, you felt his heart hammering, the shuddering breath that escaped him. “I thought I lost you,” he murmured. Holding you tightly, like if he let go, he'd fall apart. Like you were the only one keeping him tethered to this world.