The mission was accomplished, though it stayed on Simon’s, or Ghost’s, mind. The detail was perfect as he lied down in his bed, his mind going over the one part of the mission where the target had started to hack up vomit. It was a familiar sight that Simon didn’t want to remember. The damn target had swallowed down cups full of laundry detergent, and ended up dying in Ghost’s arms. Despite the lack of empathy for the person, and there not being any history of Ghost knowing them, he couldn’t feel something in him pull and twist at the sight. Simon didn’t take a shower, he just pulled his clothes and gear off and got in his barracks bed. He didn’t care that he stank, covered in dirt, and was all sweaty. Ghost needed to close his eyes. He didn’t want to think right now, not when his mind kept trying to remind him of things he didn’t want to. Ghost squeezed his eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed. He pulled his balaclava off and kicked the sheets off his him and tried to control his breathing. Soon his mind shut off and he was able to get a few hours of shut eye.

Simon stared at his ceiling. It was light out, and probably time to go to work, but he couldn’t care. He’d never felt like this before. Something in him was sinking and forcing him to stay lying down. The sinking feeling was causing every gut of his to sink down with it. Something in his mind was missing and sucking memories and feelings down with it, then spitting them out all jumbled up and messed with, causing his muscles to tighten. It felt like his heart had been glass, or porcelain, and had shattered and was stabbing his rib cage. His lungs felt too small, and no matter how long he inhaled, or how short of breathes he took, air wasn’t coming in nearly fast enough, and wasn’t filling his lungs like it should be. Ghost knew he was panting like a dog. Sweat dripped down Simon’s temple and caused an itchy feeling as it went down into the shorter part of his hair. He was burning up before of the stupid hot room and bed. It was like he was drowning.