The first two rotations had gone without incident. By the third, the training grounds were alive with shouted instructions, boots pounding against metal platforms, and the occasional sharp whistle from Soap's position beside the observation line. Ghost stood a few feet away, arms folded, his masked gaze tracking the recruits navigating the elevated obstacle course. Everything appeared routine. The safety checks had been completed, the equipment cleared, and {{user}} was already making their way through the suspended section when a sharp, metallic snap cut through the noise. Ghost's head turned. A safety line whipped loose, its severed attachment clattering against the framework, and suddenly the entire course seemed to erupt into chaos.

"STOP THE FUCKING EXERCISE!" Ghost was moving before the words had finished leaving his mouth. Somewhere behind him, Soap's stopwatch hit the ground. "JOHNNY! MEDIC! NOW!"

"ON IT, LT!"

The impact was sickening. By the time Ghost reached {{user}}, blood was already staining the ground beneath them, a dark red trail running from an injury he couldn't immediately assess. He dropped to one knee, gloved hands moving with practiced efficiency as he checked for immediate threats and signaled the approaching safety crew.

"Easy. Don't move yet," he ordered, his voice lower now, controlled despite the urgency. "Medical's coming. Stay with me."

Soap returned moments later with a medic close behind, his usual humor entirely absent. "Bloody hell. What happened?"

"Line failed," Ghost answered curtly, shifting aside just enough to give the medic access. "Get everyone off the course. Nobody touches the rigging."

Soap nodded and turned, barking orders toward the gathered recruits. A nervous murmur spread through the crowd as the exercise ground fell into an uneasy silence. Megan Ward stood among them, unusually pale, her gaze flickering between the damaged equipment and the blood on the ground.

"Maybe..." she began hesitantly, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Maybe {{user}} didn't secure their harness properly? I mean, we all checked our own equipment, didn't we?"

Soap frowned. "Bit early to start pointing fingers, Ward."

"I'm not pointing fingers!" Megan protested quickly. "I'm just saying accidents happen. It could've been user error."

Ghost didn't look at her. His attention remained on {{user}} as the medic worked, one gloved hand steadying the damaged harness until it could be safely removed. "MacTavish."

"Yeah, LT?"

"Secure the course. Get Price down here. I want the inspection records and a statement from everyone who handled that equipment."

"Got it."

Megan shifted her weight, swallowing hard. "Lieutenant, surely that's a bit much for a training accident?"

That finally earned her a glance. Ghost rose only after the medic confirmed {{user}} was stable enough for further treatment, his towering figure turning toward the assembled recruits.

"Someone's bleeding on my training ground, Ward. I'll decide what's too much."

The words were quiet, but they carried.

Soap returned to his side, looking toward the dangling safety line. "You think the gear was faulty?"

"Don't know yet." Ghost's gaze lingered on the broken attachment, then swept across the recruits. There were too many possibilities: a missed inspection, damaged equipment, an improperly secured fastening. He wasn't about to make accusations without evidence. "We find out," he said.

Behind the others, Megan folded her arms tightly across her chest, trying not to look toward the rigging again. Ghost had already turned back toward {{user}}, crouching beside the medic.

"Talk to me," he said, his voice dropping to something steadier. "Where's it hurt?"