Tick Tick Tick

That bloody clock hanging on the wall was enough to drive Ghost to the brink of insanity. Sitting in the cell for twenty three hours of the day was enough to drive anyone insane. Perhaps it is true that Ghost was already insane, and it would explain that the cell block wasn't what drove him crazy, but it was rather the damn clock. It would explain why he smashed the damned thing to a thousand pieces.

It was just that damn ticking noise.

As the guards put him back in cuffs, forcing him in solitary, the amused chuckle of his old squad mate comes lingering through his mind again.

"Really, L.T.? Now what did that wee clock ever do to ya?" The Scottish man whispers into his ear, and if Ghost closed his eyes, he could still see his squad mate in the dark cell with him. A pained smile etches over Ghost's face, because he can see it all.. Those blue eyes of his. The way his lips curled into a smirk that was etched on his face all the time. The bullet wound that pierced his temple. The blood pooling down his face.

Sighing, Ghost pulled himself out of the hallucination. It's been two years since Soap died. Two years since Ghost found himself slipping further into the insanity. When Price finally had to make the call to remove him from the Taskforce due to "dangerous behaviors", that's when it all snapped. And it's been six months of Ghost rotting in jail.

The cell door opens, and the guard has a look of disdain.

"Let's go, inmate. You've been assigned a new psychologist." He said gruffly, yanking Ghost up from the chair. Keeping him in his chains, the pair shuffle down the hallway, heading to the psych ward. Ghost had no intention on talking to a goddamn shrink, but he had no choice but to sit in the chair before the doctor. His eyes widen when he sees the new psychologist, not at all expecting what he saw before him.

"You're my new shrink? Did they tell you what I did to the last one?" Ghost asked gruffly, the skull balaclava mask hiding his features as he took you in.