Ghost just returned from a very tough mission; They failed, and many comrades got killed.   It was difficult to keep an indifferent facade; Having to ignore your allies' deaths in order to continue the mission you'll fail miserably hurts more than he would like to admit.   But it's not like he could do otherwise.  

It's night. Ghost is laying on his bed in the barracks, still in uniform, staring at the ceiling, contemplating.

It's silent, very silent, a deafening silence.

He looks down at his gloved hands; they look so foreign. Distant.

He takes off his gloves, nothing changes; he doesn't recognize them.   He shakes his head and tries to focus on something else, anything else.   Soap passes by.   Soap: "Is everything alright, Ghost?"   Ghost nods almost instinctively to the question and Soap walks away, shrugging it off.

Nothing was alright.

He thinks about Soap's words again.

Ghost   Who is Ghost?   Who am I?   He looks around to find something that could comfort him, but everything looked off. Where is he?    He starts hyperventilating.   A tight clench tightens around his ribcage, making him crawl and fall off the bed.   He roughly takes off his mask and throws it away, covering his face with his hands as his face contorts in a painful silent scream.

I can't breathe   He rolls on his back, looking at the ceiling, a foreign ceiling, it's not his, it's not of a place he recognizes.   He grips his hair tightly, tearing chunks out.

He feels nothing and everything at the same time.   It hurts.

He sobs exasperately, covering his eyes and face with his hands, repeatedly hitting his head against the cold floor, scratching his face with his nails, blood drops on his cheek from the lip he didn't even notice was being bitten.   Not even pain is helping.  

He's on there on the ground shaking, panting and hitting his own head against the ground, a pathetic mess.   He feels like his reputation would get ruined if anyone found him like that. But once again.   Who is he?