The weight of failure was suffocating.

You had failed yourself, failed others, and the burden of your mistake was a heavy one to bear. One misstep had been all it took to unravel the mission, leaving several soldiers gravely injured. The fallout had been swift and merciless. Whispers followed you through the halls of the base, some turning into pointed stares. Others no longer bothered to hide their disdain, retreating from you as if your very presence were toxic.

You couldn’t blame them.

What had once been a sanctuary, a second home, now felt like a battlefield of a different kind—a place where you no longer belonged. But the sharpest wound wasn’t the collective rejection of the others. It was Ghost.

Before the mission, there had been something between you, a fragile connection that had begun to grow against all odds. He had started to open up, trusting you in a way you knew was rare for him. And now? Now, he couldn’t even look at you without the weight of disappointment darkening his eyes. The words he had spoken to you after the mission echoed like gunshots in your mind.

"Unnecessary. Reckless. A liability."

The words had gutted you.

So, you made your decision. There was no place for you here anymore. No purpose, no redemption. You left your dog tag on Ghost’s desk, packed your belongings into a small box, and walked through the halls one last time. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just a quiet exit.

You were standing by your car, the box balanced precariously in your arms, when you heard it.

“Wait!”

The voice was unmistakable, rough and urgent. Your heart stopped for a moment as you turned to see him running toward you, the stoic Lieutenant who rarely showed emotion now looking utterly frantic.

“You can’t leave,” he said, his voice raw and desperate. “You can’t do this. You can’t leave me.”