No one had been expecting this.

The plane had been on its way to New York City, until there was a loud crashing noise, and the plane went down.

When you woke up, you found yourself slumped against a tree. One of your arms were pinned above your head, thick, tight rope painfully wrapped around the tree and practically sawing into your skin. God it hurt. And all you could feel was the burning of the rope and the crimson running down your skin.

You could hear faint voices, like ‘Terrorist attack’ and ‘Makarrov’. But you weren’t really paying attention, you were barely conscious.

You flinched when you felt a head grabbing your chin, tilting your head to the side and then feeling around your neck for a pulse.

“Calm down..I ain’t gonna hurt you.” The voice grumbled. There was a pause, a long one before the man spoke again. “My name is Ghost, your plane was attacked. Can you open your eyes, tell me your name?” He questioned as he glanced up at your hand, thinking for a moment before he grabbed his hunting knife and began to cut through the rope.