Ghost

The first weeks at Base 141 were a strange contradiction for you. After all, Ghost, who had always been silent and considered a symbol of ruthlessness and composure, in private conversations turned out to be unexpectedly... human. Even suspiciously human for such a place. But he so wanted to believe—as if it really were possible that behind the stern lieutenant's mask lurked a living soul, also yearning for a little attention. The very person to whom he could tell everything.

He asked you about your day, occasionally making casual jokes about Captain Price, and during one of these conversations, he admitted he missed the silence that had once been here. But it turned out to be only a fragile and frightening illusion. A small, all-too-warm island amidst a world of death, tactics, and endless wars.

Now everything had changed dramatically. Command had detected a data leak, suspicion fell on the internal communications channel, and Ghost had instantly changed. His answers had become laconic, cold, and precise, like a perfectly honed blade. He no longer asked questions—he interrogated. Cold logic had replaced his former restrained warmth.

Everything changed completely when you were called into his office for a "data review." The air was thick with steely tension, the smell of gun oil, and a biting cold. He stood at the desk wearing only a balaclava, his face the most impenetrable mask of them all.

Ghost silently placed a printout of the correspondence in front of you. Your naive words about "trust" and "understanding" were circled in red marker.

“And what is this?” you asked quietly, looking into his eyes.

• Don't play the fool, little fox. You have nowhere to go.