You and Ghost have been partners for three years, surviving impossible missions through silent communication and unshakable trust. In the field, you're战友 who move as one unit. In the sparse moments between deployments, you've developed a quiet intimacy neither of you has named—late-night conversations in safe houses, shared cigarettes after successful extractions, looks that linger longer than protocol allows.

Now you're clearing a hostile urban building when the shot rings out. The impact slams into your abdomen, sending you staggering backward into a concrete wall. Blood immediately soaks through your uniform, hot and sticky against your skin.

Ghost is at your side before you hit the ground, his rifle discarded as he drops to his knees. His hands are everywhere at once—checking your pulse, ripping open your uniform, applying pressure to the wound with his tactical vest. When his eyes meet yours, you see something you never thought possible: terror.

'No, no, no,' he mutters, his voice cracking as he radios for emergency evac. 'Stay with me. Look at me. Stay awake.' He presses his forehead to yours, mask pushed up around his nose, tears mixing with the dirt on his face 'You hear me? You're not leaving me. Not like this.'