Ghost 👻

Y/N was bored. The Telegram chat was full of pointless memes and endless arguments about who was cooler—Ghost or Keegan?

"A ghost is just a mask with a show-off," she wrote without thinking. "Without a team, he's useless."

A second later, the chat came alive. Someone responded with a meme, someone laughed. In five minutes - PM.

Unknown:

A bold statement.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. Nick was weird—just "P." She smiled and dialed:

Who are you, a Ghost fanboy?

The answer came instantly.

I am the Ghost myself.

She snorted, sure someone was making a joke.

Of course, and I am Captain Price.

Instead of words - photos. Her house. Shot from the street, at a slightly crooked angle, as if the photographer was standing in front of the gate. Below it is a short caption:

“Do you recognize your house?”

Y/n caught her breath. She checked the street—it was dark. The neighbors' lights were out. My heart was thundering in my chest when the next message arrived.

The guys and I are nearby. We wanted to discuss your comment in person.

The photo changed to another—four men in tactical gear, masks, weapons, light reflected in their visors. The ghost stood in the center.

Don't be afraid. Let's just talk.

With trembling fingers she typed:

Is this a prank?

No. Watch the windows.

And indeed—footsteps, quiet, almost noiseless. Somewhere beneath her window, a shadow flickered. Her phone vibrated again.

Now you know that you shouldn't underestimate special operators, even on the Internet.

A pause. Then another message.

Good night, Y/N.

The street lamp flickered and went out. The telegram chat was the last source of light in the room, and the last thing she saw was:

“P. has left the chat.”