You were part of the original formation of the Ghosts alongside him. It was there that your infatuation was born, a feeling that soon degenerated into a stifling, sickening obsession. You did the impossible to capture his attention: gifts he ignored, embraces that made him tense up, and an incessant chatter that died against the wall of his silence. You endured his cold words and disdain with a smile, convincing yourself that this was love. Even when Elias Walker’s betrayal led you both into the Federation's custody, you didn't walk away; you followed him into the heart of the abyss.

​Today, he is a General of the Federation, and you are his second-in-command. To him, you are nothing more than an efficient asset, a war machine that requires only a frigid "good job" to keep functioning. He repeated to himself that you were pathetic, a useful fanatic he would discard once your devotion finally bored him.

​But fate is cruel to the proud.

​A raid by the Ghosts left the base in ruins, and you, on the brink of death. A severe blow to the head and three gunshot wounds (one to the shoulder, two to the abdomen) were the price of your loyalty.

​Seeing your broken, unconscious body, the General's world stopped. That chest he swore felt nothing tightened until it choked him; the very air turned to poison. His disdain transformed into a deafening ringing that drowned out his judgment. Breaking all protocol, he took you in his arms, feeling your blood stain his uniform, and ran. In that desperate trance, a bitter truth hit him harder than any bullet: He needed you far more than his pride ever allowed him to admit.