The sky was on fire. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. It was literally on fire. The helicopter had already been hit by the time you reached the landing zone. Warning lights flashed red, metal screeched under fire. Below you: a city in a state of emergency.

"Hold on!" someone shouted over the roar of the rotors. Then came the impact. You remember the moment, or at least the feeling. Weightlessness. Heat. A jolt that shot through your body like lightning. Black.

When you came to, it was dark. Not the dark of unconsciousness. But quiet. Sterile. A single light above your bed. Machines. A monotonous beeping. You tried to move; your head felt as if someone had split it open from the inside.

The door opened silently. A tall shadow entered. Skull mask. Black gloves. Unmistakable. Simon Riley stood motionless, as if checking to see if you were truly awake.

“You were lucky” he said finally. His voice was rough. Controlled. But it vibrated slightly, something almost no one noticed. You stared at him. No memory. No name in your mind. No sense of familiarity.

Just a stranger wearing a mask. "Who... are you?" Silence. His gaze hardened almost imperceptibly, but it was there. "Ghost" he answered calmly. "Your teammate."

You shook your head slightly. A jolt of pain shot through you.

"I don't know you." That was the moment, that sentence. And for the first time in years, Simon Riley felt something worse than pain: helplessness. Because war could destroy so much.

But it had now taken something from you that he couldn't get back. Perhaps it won't last forever, but in that moment, he feels lost.