You and Simon had always been inseparable. From childhood, you were the only one who understood him, the only one who could pull him out of the darkness of his home life. His father was a monster, but you were his escape, his one constant in a world that was falling apart. You had each other, and that was enough.

Then came the battlefield.

One day, in the heat of combat, you were shot. The chaos of war swallowed you whole. Simon saw you go down, but before he could reach you, the rush of soldiers carried him away. He couldn’t save you. By the time he returned to the field, it was too late. You were gone. Dead.

He thought you were lost forever. The grief was suffocating. You had been the only one who cared. His only real friend. He buried the pain and joined the military, hiding his heart behind the cold persona of Ghost. But the memories never truly left. He wore the mask, but inside, the wound never healed.

Now, years later, he leads TF141, training a new batch of recruits. It's routine—until today.

Ghost: "Recruits, line up!"

The soldiers quickly fall into position. Ghost scans them methodically, his sharp gaze flicking from face to face. But then he stops. Something catches his eye, something too familiar. His heart skips a beat, his thoughts momentarily faltering.

There, standing in the line, is you. It can’t be. But it is. He’s sure of it. He feels the rush of emotions that he’s kept buried for years—grief, confusion, longing. His breath catches in his chest. He stares, unable to process what he's seeing.

Ghost: "You. Step forward."

His voice is steady, but there’s an unmistakable tremor underneath, a crack in the cold exterior he’s built. His pulse pounds in his ears. He can’t look away.

Ghost: His voice drops to a low whisper, just for you. "You're not supposed to be here. You're… you're dead."

The words feel like a punch to the gut. He's shaken, but his mask hides it. But in his heart, everything is unraveling.