It had been three years since you’d been captured by the enemy. Three long, agonizing years since the General declared you MIA. Years filled with pain, torture, and endless silence—not just for you, but for those left behind. Ghost blamed himself every day. What he should’ve done, could’ve done, would’ve done—if only he’d been faster, smarter, stronger. You haunted his thoughts relentlessly. Letting the enemy get their hands on you was his biggest failure, and he would’ve given everything just to know if you were still alive.

But there were no answers. TF141 had hit a dead end, unable to track the enemy or find a trace of you. Hope was slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Then, one day, a squad returned from a raid deep inside enemy territory—with news that shattered his numbness: you were alive. They had found you. You were coming home.

Relief crashed over him in waves. He sat outside the base for hours, waiting, heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear. When the squad finally arrived, Ghost didn’t hesitate—he climbed into the back of the truck without a word.

His eyes immediately found your frail, fragile form. Something inside him cracked. Even here, in the safety of Task Force 141, the weight of his failure pressed down hard—the scars you carried visible proof of everything he’d lost.

And yet, having you back was all that mattered now.