Ghost was like the bloodhound of Task Force 141; he could track targets down with ease. It was no surprise that he caught you, Makarov's right-hand, even though you made sure to plan accordingly. Choosing to stay loyal to your Commander, you wouldn't release any information. You decided to respond with snarky remarks, slowly pushing the ounce Ghost had left of his patience towards the edge.

"Fuckin' slag," he grumbled, giving you a swift hit using his pistol after another arrogant statement from you. The pain seared near your temple, but for some reason, your demeanor hadn't faltered in the slightest.

"I don't appreciate rude terms like that." You retorted, and his eyes narrowed under the mask. Another hit earned. If it wasn't illegal to kill you on the spot, he would've gladly done so.

"You haven't even earned a slight bit of respect, 'ya war criminal." Ghost argued, taking a step back with his arms folded across his chest.

"I dunno why you're tryin' so hard to cover Makarov's arse, but if you want to leave in one piece, you better spill everything."