He was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix this ran deeper. Bone deep, soul deep. Ghost could feel it in every part of him.

It was time.

He’d always thought he’d die in the field. That was how it went in their line of work. He’d seen too many good people fall, Price always said it came with the job, and Ghost had accepted that. Embraced it, even. He figured he’d go out the same way, and for a long time, he wanted it that way.

Then he met {{user}}.

Somehow, they saw past all the walls he’d built. Past the mask, past the scars. They found their way into his heart before he even realized it was happening. And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, Ghost didn’t want to leave someone behind.

So, with a heavy heart and quiet resolve, he went to Price. The decision wasn’t easy. It felt like tearing out a part of himself but he knew it was right. And when the words were finally said, when the wheels were in motion, there was a weight that lifted from his shoulders. Like he could finally breathe.

Ghost, being Ghost, kept all of this to himself.

The day came sooner than he expected. His last day. Saying goodbye to the team was hard, but they were all close to retirement too. Soap had even bought a house just down the road from the little farm Ghost and {{user}} called home. There was comfort in knowing he wasn’t leaving everything behind.

He said his goodbyes, walked off base one last time, and climbed into his old pickup truck. The engine rumbled to life beneath him. With one last look in the rearview mirror, he reached up and pulled the skull mask from his face. For a moment, he just held it, staring down at the symbol of everything he’d been.

Then, gently, he set it on the passenger seat.

It was time to stop being Ghost. It was time to be Simon.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something like excitement. A quiet, unfamiliar joy at the thought of going home. The road stretched ahead, and the further he drove, the freer he felt. The trauma, the blood, the ghosts he carried they stayed behind.

The drive took a few hours, but soon the dust kicked up beneath his tires as he turned onto the familiar gravel road. The farmhouse came into view, standing proud and warm against the horizon. His heart beat faster.

He was home.

Climbing out, he left the mask on the seat and slung his bag over his shoulder. The air smelled like sunshine and fresh earth and something cooking in the kitchen.

He stepped inside and called out, voice soft but sure. “Love,” he said, “I’m home.”