The mission was doomed long before the explosion. The air already reeked of blood, sweat, and fear. Gunfire echoed endlessly, bullets tearing through flesh with the sound of nails being hammered into coffins. Every scream was drowned by the sharp crack of rifles.

Price, Soap, and Gaz were barely clinging to life.

Soap was slumped against a wall, eyes half-shut, gasping for air. His right arm had been torn off by a burst of machine gun fire minutes earlier. What remained was a mangled shoulder, bone exposed beneath burned shreds of flesh. Blood poured in violent spurts, painting the ground beneath him. His uniform was shredded, soaked in red, sticking to his body. He tried to hold the stump with his left hand, but his strength was gone. His lips trembled, mumbling half-formed words, delirious and broken.

Gaz lay a few feet ahead, writhing in agony. Three bullets had torn through his chest and abdomen. Every breath bubbled grotesquely with blood inside his lungs, the wet sound of drowning filling the air. His chest rose unevenly, like he was suffocating on his own blood. His legs were shattered, bent at impossible angles, bones pressing through skin. Each time he tried to crawl, the sound of bones grinding made Ghost’s stomach twist. Gaz whimpered, blood foaming from his mouth.

Price... Price was worse. A grenade had torn into him, and now he was burning alive. His left arm was almost unrecognizable, the skin melted to reveal scorched muscle and tendon. His chest was a patchwork of third-degree burns, the flesh raw, blackened, peeling in strips. Half his face was gone — melted away, lips fused with charred flesh, one eye sealed shut forever by melted skin. The smell of burned meat poured off him in waves. Still, he clutched the radio, voice shredded, coughing up black, thick blood between every word.

— “This is Bravo-6... need... immediate support...”

And then, through the smoke, he came.

The enemy didn’t rush. He didn’t fire. He walked. His dark coat swayed, and on his face was a twisted grin — the kind of smile that enjoyed the horror it caused. Ghost and you raised your weapons, but the man dove straight behind Soap, Gaz, and Price.

— “NO!” Ghost’s voice tore from his throat.

The man ripped his coat open. Strapped across his chest were wires, blinking lights, bricks of explosives. His eyes locked with Ghost’s, then yours. That grin widened into pure insanity.

— “Rot in hell with me.”

His thumb pressed the trigger.

The explosion wasn’t just sound. It was annihilation. The air ignited, heat blistering skin instantly. The shockwave crushed lungs, hurled bodies into rubble. Ghost and you were thrown like rag dolls, bones rattling, ears screaming from the blast.

When Ghost forced his eyes open, the world was a nightmare.

Soap was in pieces. Where there had been a man, now there was meat. His torso was ripped apart, ribs blown open like jagged knives. Half his skull was gone, what remained of his jaw hanging by threads, the tongue dangling lifeless. The one arm left had been torn away in the blast. Soap — the joker, the heart of the team — was nothing but butchered flesh.

Gaz was unrecognizable. The three bullet holes had become craters ripped open by shrapnel. Blood pooled thick and dark beneath him, soaking the dirt. His legs were mangled beyond repair, bones jutting out through muscle. His face had been caved in by debris, his eyes gone, leaving only a ruin where his head had been.

And Price... Ghost forced himself to look, but it broke him. The captain still twitched, still breathed for seconds after the blast. His chest had been ripped wide open, exposing ribs scorched black. His left arm was gone. The burned side of his face had been blasted apart, skull showing through shredded skin. His one good eye rolled weakly, desperate, before freezing. Price opened his mouth as if to say one last order, one last word — but only boiling blood bubbled out, streaming down his chin. And then he stilled.

Ghost felt his heart collapse. His family, his team — erased in front of him.

Gunfire ripped through the smoke. The enemies were closing in again. Ghost dragged you behind cover, but then it happened.

A burst of gunfire tore through the haze. Ghost turned to retaliate, but you moved first, stepping in front of him.

The bullets tore into your body one after another. Each shot was a sickening thud of metal through flesh, blood spraying across Ghost’s mask, staining the world red. Your body convulsed, then slumped onto him, warm, heavy, soaking him in blood.

— “NO! NO, NOT YOU! NOT YOU TOO!” Ghost roared, raw and broken.

He grabbed you in his arms and ran. There was no plan. No mission. No war. Only desperation. He crashed through a window, shards slicing his skin. The forest swallowed you both — dark, cold, merciless.

Your blood poured over his arms, dripping to the ground in a crimson trail. Ghost lowered you behind a thick tree, hands pressing down on the wounds, but it was useless. Blood gushed between his fingers, hot and endless.

— “Stay with me... stay the fuck with me...” his voice cracked, trembling.

Your eyes flickered, unfocused, fading. Ghost’s chest heaved. Fear. Real fear. Not of death, not of enemies — but of being left alone. Of losing the last piece of family he had left.

He pressed harder, as if he could force life back into your veins, as if sheer will could hold you here. His breaths came ragged, his mask soaked in sweat and blood.

— “Don’t you leave me... I can’t... I can’t lose you too...” he pleaded, voice breaking, shaking like a man who no longer felt human.

The forest was silent, the world holding its breath. Your breathing grew weaker, slipping away.

And for the first time in years, Simon Riley — Ghost, the unbreakable soldier — broke. Tears burned his eyes as he clutched you against him, drowning in blood, rage, and grief.

All his brothers were gone. And now, the last soul he had was slipping through his fingers. — "Please, please hold on tight" he desperately tries to stop the bleeding with one hand while the other tries to find a signal with the radio.