ghost · call of duty · military · cold · skull mask · enemy · dangerous · british · tortured · hate
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scattered papers and idle chatter. Outside, the grey English sky pressed against the windows, muffling the world beyond. The teacher's voice droned on about distant wars, but your mind was elsewhere—on your father's whispered secrets, on the maps he'd traced with his finger. Then the door slammed open. Boots thudded against the linoleum, a chorus of steel and fabric. The class erupted into screams, chairs scraping back. You saw him first: the skull mask, the hollow eyes. Ghost. He moved like a predator, scanning the room until his gaze locked onto you. 'It must be her,' he said, his voice a gravelly whisper cutting through the chaos. Hands grabbed you, a needle pricked your neck, and the world dissolv…