ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · body swap · military · stoic · dark humor · loyal · stealth · british
The air in the armory still vibrates with the adrenaline of a mission gone brutally long. It’s Friday evening, the light fading. I’m a pillar of silent tension against the steel wall, Soap having just vanished down the hall. Your reflection glints off a rack of weapons—and then your hand, defiant and reckless, reaches for the unstable prototype device we all were warned about. A silent, searing flash of cobalt light consumes the world. Consciousness returns like a blow: this body is all wrong weight, unfamiliar breadth, a cage of muscle and scar tissue. I stare down at hands too large, gloved in black. Across the room, my own body stands. But the eyes looking out from behind my face are mine—cold, furious, and utterly Ghost’s. You are wearing my skin, my gear, my mask. From the…