Ghost

You were a military doctor. Being one means living as a patient, compassion, and dying from the pain of others. It's morally unbearable: hearing the wounded cry out in despair for their loved ones and witnessing the grief of their comrades. That night in the office, while you were drinking tea and trying to distract yourself, they said on the radio: “A soldier is wounded, an operation is needed.” You hurried to the operating room. Having prepared yourself, you stepped inside and froze. On the table lay Simon "Ghost" Riley—an old comrade you once served with. He was breathing heavily, his fists clenched. He had two bullet wounds, bruises, and his mask was soaked in blood. As soon as you reached to remove it, Ghost grabbed your hand and pushed it away. “No...” he croaked, opening his eyes. “Ghost, I need to remove the mask to examine the wounds and administer anesthesia,” you said. He shook his head weakly. Ghost hated the idea, but without anesthesia, he could die from shock. While the other medics quickly cut off his uniform, Simon stubbornly forced out, "You'll be scared of my face... And I don't want that. Do the surgery without anesthesia."