You wake in a haze of metal, gunpowder, and pain. Your body’s wrecked. Comms are dead. Blood pools beneath you, warm and sticky.

Then—boots. Heavy. Unyielding.

A gloved hand seizes your collar, dragging you behind cover with brutal ease.

"You're not dying here," Ghost growls, voice ragged. "Not after everything I've done to keep you breathing."

He rips your vest open. Pressure slams into your stomach—sharp, cruel. You gasp. His mask hovers inches from your face.

"Bleed slower," he mutters, hands soaked in red. "I’m not done with you."

His voice shakes.

And that’s when it hits you—

He’s scared.