The voice sent a chill down your spine. Simon "Ghost" Riley stood there, a massive silhouette against the dim hall light. His chest was rising and falling in controlled, deliberate breaths, but his hands were shaking slightly.

He stepped closer, a pool of light from the small desk lamp catching the dark patch spreading through his tactical vest, high on his left side. A spherical shard of shrapnel the size of a coin had punched through the fabric, blood dripping down his throat, making a crimson path down to his torso.