ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · secret admirer · cold · stoic · military · protective · masked · loyal
The base is a tomb of fluorescent light and humming machinery, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air and mixing with the bitter dregs of cold coffee. Your body aches from the gym, a dull, persistent echo of the mission that still plays behind your eyes, a film reel stuck on the image of Ghost lying motionless in a hospital bed. As you pass his office, a thin line of yellow light cuts across the dark corridor from a door left slightly ajar—a door that is always, always shut. You push it open, the groan of the hinges loud in the quiet. The room smells of old paper, gun oil, and something metallic. And there, on the uncluttered desk, a leather-bound notebook lies open. The handwriting is sharp, deliberate, but written in haste—it's the same hand that penned every mysterious…