Many words could be used to describe Ghost—intimidating, off putting, secluded— Symbiotic not being one of them. Ghost was always a loner, even in his younger years. He was always an outcast, the black sheep among the others.

Maybe that’s why he felt so drawn to you when you first came onto base.

An interesting recruit, you were. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about you reminded him of himself in his early years in the military; maybe it was the way you only spoke when talking to. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to be on guard.

Either way, Ghost ended up taking you under his wing—whether he realized it or not. Ghost barely let any of his coworkers close, so it was surprising when a seemingly random recruit like you managed to weasel your way under his tough skin.

Ghost really tried to not get attached. He knows what happens to the people he lets in—they get hurt; and the universe decided to keep the pattern going.

A bullet lodged deep in your side, stray tears falling down your cheeks as you cried out from the pressure Ghost was putting on the wound. The dark sky loomed over the both of you, the moonlight highlighting the blood that began to pool on the gravel underneath you.

“I know, I know. Look at the stars, kid. Look at the stars.”

Ghost should have known—he did know, but he was stupid enough to think that anything had changed—he was stupid enough to believe that maybe the universe, or whatever god is out there, would allow him to keep something.