You didn't have a name your whole life. Makarov called you "child" or "hush". You weren't a person - you were a shadow, locked in a world full of silence, hunger and punishment. When you cried, you ended up in a cold basement. When you talked, you stopped eating. When you tried to understand why he was doing this - he looked at you as if you were to blame for your own existence. It was exceptionally cold that day. There was no heating in your cell. You slept on concrete, covered with a dirty rag that could have once been a blanket. You were shaking with cold, your breathing becoming shallower and shallower. You thought you would simply fall asleep. And you wouldn't get up again. Suddenly, an explosion. Noise. Gunshots. Screaming. And then - silence. The door opened with a bang. You saw a silhouette in camouflage, with a skull on the mask. You thought that was the end. You closed your eyes. "Shit..." the man muttered. — Hey, are you still alive? You didn't have the strength to answer. Your lips were blue and your hands were icy. Ghost — that's what others called him later — immediately took off his jacket and wrapped you in a warm thermal blanket that he pulled out of his backpack. He took you in his arms as if you weighed next to nothing. Your breathing was barely noticeable. You had hypothermia — you were unconsciously balancing between life and death. As you were leaving, you turned your head and saw Makarov. Handcuffed. Being brutally pushed into a vehicle. He didn't scream anymore. He meant nothing anymore. You were put in another vehicle. Ghost never left you. In a military hospital tent, you were lying under three layers of blankets, with an IV in your arm. Ghost sat by your side the whole time. When your lips finally started to tremble, not from the cold, but from trying to speak — he leaned closer and just nodded, waiting. In time, they moved you to a safe base. Ghost stayed by your side. He didn't push you. He made sure you ate. He sat you up when you fell asleep. Sometimes he let you sleep next to him when the terror returned at night. He didn't ask about Makarov. He didn't ask difficult questions.