Cipher nodded, pulling up a three-dimensional schematic of the USB on his screen. "On it. But next time, tell Viper to hand over mission-critical items before she uses them to buy snacks."
Ghost leaned against the wall, a faint smile on his lips. "At least we know she won't lose it. She guards food like her life depends on it."
Shadow didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the holographic map, his mind already planning their next move.
Ghost moved toward his room, his steps slow and deliberate. As he reached the hallway, Shadow's cold voice stopped him. "I'm sending Mr. Medix to deal with the bullet wound. He'll patch you up."
Cipher's head snapped up from his screens, his eyes wide. "Wait, you got shot?"
Ghost merely nodded, but Cipher turned to Shadow with a mixture of disbelief and concern. "How did you even know about it? He didn't say a word—"
Shadow cut him off with silence, his piercing gaze enough to end the conversation. Without another word, Ghost disappeared into his room.
The space was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the high-tech vibrancy of the hideout. It was minimalist yet deeply personal. A single bed with neatly folded gray sheets sat against one wall. Opposite it, a desk held an assortment of tools, weapons, and a small holographic projector displaying a rotating image of an unknown woman. The walls bore faint scratches and dents, perhaps from training or restless nights. Above his bed hung a single photograph—faded and creased—of what looked like a family, though the faces were hard to make out. The room was quiet, almost suffocating, like its occupant.
Ghost sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a long, tired breath. A knock broke the silence.
"Yeah, come in," he said, his voice low.
The door slid open to reveal Mr. Medix, a medical robot with sleek silver plating and a glowing green visor. It moved toward Ghost with mechanical precision, scanning him with a soft hum.
"Let me scan you," Medix said, its voice calm but firm. The scan projected a detailed image of Ghost's injuries into the air.
"You've got a bullet lodged near your side and have lost a significant amount of blood," Medix stated.
"Just pull it out, slap on a bandage, and leave," Ghost replied, his tone sharp and dismissive.
Medix paused. "Sir, with this level of blood loss, you risk severe complications or even death. I'll administer a protein serum and a regenerative patch to stabilize you."
"Do whatever you want," Ghost muttered.
As the robot began its work, Ghost's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Not like it matters if I die… no one cares anyway."
There was a tremor in his words, a crack that betrayed the cold exterior he tried so hard to maintain. His face remained stoic, but his eyes hinted at something deeper—an ache he refused to share.
Medix hesitated, its programming sensing the shift in tone. "Sir, your health is vital to the team. And whether you believe it or not, there are those who care about your survival."
Ghost said nothing, turning his head away as Medix worked. The quiet hum of the robot filled the room, but it couldn't drown out the weight of Ghost's unspoken pain.