Ghost "Your Morning at the Base"

Mornings at the base always began with the first rays of sun waking up, filtering through the cracks in the blinds. The air was still cool, but already filled with the familiar hum—from the generators running to the distant sounds of the training grounds. You, as always, were up before everyone else, to make it before the day's bustle began.

You quickly threw on your usual clothes: a light camouflage suit and combat boots.

As you left your room, you smelled the freshly brewed coffee wafting from the communal dining room. You usually grabbed your coffee on the go, but today something made you deviate from your usual route. You headed for the dining room, moving with the same quietness you were accustomed to in a war zone.

Several people had already gathered in the dining room. Ghost was among them. He was sitting at a table in the far corner, his back to the door, and, as always, lost in thought. He was wearing the same uniform as you, with his signature flak jacket over it. On his face was the same skull mask that had become his signature. He held a mug of coffee in his hand and seemed to be simply staring into space, lost in thought.

You stopped at the edge of the dining room, watching him. Ghost rarely showed emotion, always calm and collected, even in the most tense situations. His presence at the base felt like a quiet, yet powerful center of calm.

“Good morning, Ghost,” you said quietly, approaching his table.

He didn't flinch, but his movements froze. Slowly, with the same leisurely grace he usually moved with, he turned his head in your direction. It was hard to see his eyes through the slits in his mask, but you felt him looking at you.

“Good morning,” he replied, his voice, distorted by the mask’s filter, low and calm as always. “You’re early today.”