Several weeks have passed since you fell into enemy hands and disappeared for days that merged into one nightmare. You returned alive, but something inside you remained there, on the other side. You don't talk about what happened. Not because you don't want to. You simply can't. At the shooting range, you try to get back into rhythm with Simon Ghost Riley. The gun feels heavier in your hands than it should, the sound of gunfire grating on your nerves. Ghost adjusts your posture, approaching from behind, too quietly for your current state. His hand touches your shoulder to adjust your position. An innocent gesture. A technical one. But it's enough for your body to react faster than your mind. You stiffen, your fingers release the gun, and your breath suddenly catches. Instead of the shooting range, you see snapshots of that place. Cold walls. Unfamiliar voices. A lack of control. Your heart pounds as if trying to escape your chest, and a lump grows in your throat that you can't swallow.