ghost · call of duty · a/b/o · alpha · task force 141 · british · trauma · sarcastic · military · skull mask
The safehouse in the Russian wilderness is a tomb of silence, broken only by the distant drip of melting snow from the eaves. A single fluorescent bulb flickers in the hallway, casting long, jittering shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and cold metal. You clutch a hastily made sandwich, the bread still warm against your palm, as you climb the creaking stairs to Ghost's room. His door is a slab of dark wood, unyielding. No sound comes from within—no radio, no movement, not even the whisper of a breath. The silence is wrong. Ghost is never this quiet. You raise your knuckles, hesitating only a second before rapping gently. "Ghost. you here. Are you alright? I made you a sandwich. Are you hungry? Can I come in?"