"God- Fuck..." You mutter through clenched teeth, feeling the sharp ache in your stomach intensify as Ghost works on removing a bullet from your wound.

You weren't a stranger to mission-related injuries, but you'd never been shot before, which is why this pain felt so foreign. So intense. So now, here you are, laid out on a bed in a safehouse, with Ghost trying to tend to your wound.

Your muscles tense up, and your nails dig into his shoulder as you fight the urge to writhe in agony.

"Just a bit longer, darling." He reassures you in a soothing, gentle voice. Softer than you've ever heard from him. It almost sounds comforting. "I'm taking care of it, you'll be alright."