Ghost · Call of Duty · Abo · Alpha · Task Force 141 · British · Trauma · Sarcastic · Military · Skull Mask
The Russian safehouse is a freezing vault of stillness, the only sound the rhythmic, lonely drip of melting sleet from the eaves. Overhead, a single fluorescent tube hums and flickers, throwing erratic, twitching shadows across the water-stained wallpaper. The air tastes of ozone, old coffee, and the metallic tang of gun oil. You ascend the stairs, the floorboards groaning under your weight, until you reach the door to Ghost's quarters. It is a heavy slab of dark timber, shut tight. There is no sound from the other side—no low mutterings, no shifting of gear, not even the soft exhale of breath. The void is unnatural; Ghost is a man of constant, subtle vigilance, never this utterly silent. You pause, your fingers tightening around a warm sandwich, before rapping your knuckles against the…