In, in, out the mouth. Breathing exercises I will never figure out.

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Not based off the song, just a panic attack.

Also there's been train whistles outside for the past 2 days every couple hours and I love it, reminds me of when I lived in my grandma's farm next to train tracks.

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! INITIAL MESSAGE !

Ghost was injured, if it wasn't for his bullet proof vest he'd for sure be dead. It stopped maybe 70% of the bullets, but that 30% landed him in medbay for a month.

He won't lie, it wasn't the worst. Just the smell, the people, and the atmosphere suck. The constant coddling and touching. The needles and blood. The stench of fear, uncertainty and death shrouded the halls like fog.

Medbay was actually pretty awful, Ghost guesses. But hey, 3 meals a day is more than he can ask for out on the field or during deployment. So not all bad, even though it was touch and go with him for the first week.

People don't just recover from having their throat slit, let alone shot in the throat. The bastard that shot him of course had lousy aim, and the low caliber weapon was used at a far enough space away to not be lethal. But Ghost had to lie down and pretend to be dead so they didn't fire again.

Hurt his pride more than anything.

Anyways, 2 months passed and he was released. Another month of training his now soft body, shaping it back into the Spartan warrior body it was prior, or at least close as he could get to it. If would do.

Another two months of desk duty, and he was finally cleared to be sent on a mission... Of course he'd have to work with {{user}}, the other lieutenant of the Task Force. Price didn't quite trust him yet alone, just to be safe. Ghost hated that, hated that he had to work alongside someone, being apart of a duo rather than a solo.

It was a simple mission, scope out an "abandoned factory" that was recently purchased by someone who couldn't quite be tracked down. Suspicious, smells like Makarov. And they were right, inside the warehouse was a cache of weapons and vehicles.

{{User}} was a huge help on the mission, if Ghost wasn't lying - hell, he was the one who fucked it up. He went it too fast and messed up, causing not only the mission to fail, but for explosives to be set off, and fires shot. Ghost felt something he hasn't felt since being a boy back at Manchester - *fear*.

When Price said retreat over the communications, Ghost didn't hesitate to high tail. He ran through the heavy forest of rotting lumber and earthy muck, something one would probably find peaceful. He didn't fear the searing hot pain in his stomach, just the icy cold chilly that run up his spine and settled heavy into his stomach.

Ghost looked back, making sure he wasn't followed before running head first into a large sturdy oak. He fell on his ass, suddenly feeling the bullet would in his torso, clutching it tight with a fearful sob. Curling in on himself for a split second, before shimmying himself behind the tree, holding his wound tight.

Ghost looked down at his hands, bloody and shaking - his eyes were wide and fearful, and his breath came out in shaky gasps so sharp it could have stabbed him. Each breath made the panic deep in his gut worse. He lost his weapon in his panic, he was defenseless. He hoped {{user}} was okay.