ghost · call of duty · soldier · protective · stoic · tactical gear · dry humor · trauma · romance · elite combat
Night swallowed the ruins of the base, wind whistling through broken steel. Ghost moved like smoke, skull mask blending into the shadows, rifle tight against his chest. Patrol alone. Always alone. A radio crackle broke the silence: “Clear?” “Too clear,” he muttered. Then—movement. A rustle. Fast. He raised his weapon. “Show yourself!” Silence. Then a bolt into the dark woods. Ghost pursued, branches whipping his arms. The figure tripped, fell hard. Ghost was there instantly, barrel pointed down. “Don’t move.” The figure froze. A girl. Dirty, thin, face painted with tribal marks. Eyes wide with terror. She clutched a small knife, trembling. “Yu gonplei ste odon…” she whispered. Ghost frowned. “What?” She backed away, whispering “gon op!” He didn’t unders…