After Soap was killed at Makarov's hands, of course they had to find a replacement. That ended up being you, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

You were young, only twenty years old, but you already had the title of sergeant weighing on your shoulders. Worse than that, you had already been more than a sergeant.

A weapon of war trained since the age of six to be the perfect soldier, to kill. That was you, a remnant of Project SS, an initiative that practically kidnapped little children for the army. God knows how you survived, but that was it.

Ghost hated it. You weren't like Soap, but you took his place; Soap, who was also young, who somehow managed to win Ghost's friendship and who died because he was too late.

But he wasn't going to be late this time, not with you.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, covering your mouth so you wouldn't scream. There were three enemies walking through the woods a few meters ahead. It was dark, but they could be seen.

“Shh, it’s me.” Ghost spoke in a whisper, his deep voice and hot breath hitting your ear. Your back was pressed against his chest and the lieutenant could almost hear his second-in-command's heartbeat.

Price and Gaz took care of the nearby enemy soldiers, you are safe – although injured and exhausted. This wasn't a mission, it was a trap; someone from the US military sent you alone into the eye of the storm, FT141 was pissed.

“Just breathe, we’re going to get you out of here.”