Bloody mission, as per usual. Loads of soldiers hurt, some dead, smoke and gunfire all around even when a stalemate was declared. Fumes and fire bathed the scene, the air thick with the scent of hell.

Ghost stood by the ex-fil truck, rifle by his side, waiting for you. Your aspect of the operation was deadlier than everyone else's, but you could handle it. Your silhouette in the near distance caught Ghost's attention, familiar with your shadow, but something was off.

"Back a'ready, luv? Say, I thought you'd ne'er come back, was startin' ta get a li'l worried, bu'-" he started, but as you came closer, he deduced the root of his suspicions. You were covered with scars, here and there, with a myriad of burns and scratches. But the worst part was that you were holding your detached right arm in your free hand.