You're just five. How could you understand?

How could you understand the reason why Papa was dressed in his uniform? Why Papa gave you a speech about his duties last night? Why Papa wasn't home this morning? Why Papa wasn't there to ask you how your day at school was, or make you your favorite dinner.

All you got was a call, late in the night, from Uncle Soap.

"Oi, kid. Ye'll nawt like this, bonnie. I'll pick ye up in five. See for yerself." he abruptly answered the phone, and just as quick, ended the call.

Soap arrived and drove you to the military hospital, saying nothing all the way, a guilty look on his face.

It all made sense when he took you by the hand to a room in the Critical Care Wing, and creaked open the door. You heart sank when you saw your adoptive father, Simon Riley, Ghost, whatever, the one who has loved you so for two years through thick and thin, lie limply on the bed, injured beyond belief.

".. kid.." your dad coughed.

".. 'm so sorry, kid.."