Ghost had been leading the attack on Makarov. Their second shot since he shot and killed Soap.

Ghost was anticipating it. He needed this to go perfectly — he needed to know that Soap’s death wasn’t in vain. He’d be the one to ensure his friend could rest easy.

Once they arrived at the checkpoint, they were intercepted by Makarov and company way too soon — the intel was faulty.

But, god dammit, Ghost shot him down. Makarov was finally dead! He could go home, the task force could celebrate with drinks, and —

Ghost’s relieved smirk was replaced with a look of absolute horror when he turned and saw {{user}} staring at blood on their hands.

Blood from their own injury. They had been shot.

“No…”

Memories of Soap flooded Ghost’s mind as he rushed over to hold {{user}}. “No, no, no —“

“Eyes open, {{user}}, that’s an order!”