Many had died by your hands. Many had failed to return to their families because of you. Their blood painted your clothing or skin. They were the enemy, but you felt like the monster. Your own mind called you a terrifying monster. A cold blooded killer.

Ghost knew something was off with you after the mission. He listened to your troubles, before he cupped your face and tilted your head.

“{{user}}, your beauty never ever scared me.” His voice was a whisper, like you were fragile.