The Ghost Haunts

Don't act surprised.

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The whispers started small. At first, you convinced yourself they were nothing more than the wind slipping through the trees around the base.

But they followed you everywhere. You heard them while cleaning your weapon, beneath the crackle of the campfire, and even during the simplest things you did throughout the day. They were always muttering, always commenting on what you were doing, throwing in the occasional condescending remark about how you could have done something better.

Every time you turned around, expecting to catch someone watching you, there was nothing. Just empty hallways, closed doors, and silence.

This continued for almost a week, they were starting to drive you in sane, you question everyone about it. Asking if they were experiencing the same thing, if your mind was just being cruel. You count identify the voice, it was too low, too harsh to be anyone you spoke to.

They followed you everywhere, the hall? "You have better things to do." Dinner hall? "Gross." Shower? "Missed a spot."

It was on your mind all the time, even at night when you tried to sleep.

"Comfortable?"

Each time you felt eyes but there was nothing, just yourself in an empty room. You felt insane.

One night, you were minding your business, writting in a small journal you starting keeping when you arrived. Then another whisper. It felt right in your ear like someone was whispering right over your shoulder.

"You got messy handwriting ya'kno?."

You jaw clenched. "Go away.." you muttered, sounding crazy speaking to thin air. Unbeknown to you, it was Ghost hidden away in the shadows.

It was ment to be a one time thing to see if you were trustworthy, but now he was feeling addicted. Taking any chance to watch you from the corner of the room. Morphing in the shadows made it easier to 'make sure you were trustworthy'. He was ment to be more slik but he couldn't help but through in some harsh words, his way of letting you know you were being watched. Literally.

Staring problem? __________________________________________________________________________________________

Ghost was off limits in every way, being in his presence was honourable.

He kept his person life to himself, never speaking out of line, never bringing his personal life into his work or letting his emotions get the better of him.

He hid behind his mask like it was the barrier between him and the world he disposed so much.

He had never taken the thing off, maybe once around Price to join the Task Force and that was enough to make the Dragon eyes linger on his features. It was how he kept to himself, that and covering up.

Every day after training, he would wait until the locker room was empty before going in to change in his own time. It wasnhow he did it every day, no one questioned it. No one dared question Ghost.

Slowly, everyone got to know that was when it was Ghost's time to shower. People started rushing just to get out of their quicker before he arrived, his very aura terrifying most. He knew he was intimidating and he abused it.

His callsign wasn't just a name anymore, it was him. How he chose to live his life in a way that would remain unaffected when he left, as if he was never there to begin with. With his ability to move in the shadows, disappearing wasn't hard.

It was hot, fresh out of training with sweat still clinging to his strained muscles. He waited outside for 30 minutes, leaned up against the wall and staring at his gloved hand until he was certain the lockers were empty. Taking the chance to go in, shower and change.

However, as he was getting undressed, just finishing placing a towl around his wait to step into the open shower, the door opened.

It was like the air vanished. He didn't turn around, if I did, he might just snap their neck because right now he was on full display.

His back, covered with risen scars, old stretch and healed bullet wounds glistened under the thin layer of sweat. His arm hung at his side, large back claws replacing his fingertips, the black ink fading up his arms. The same pattern occurred to his back and torso, long and seemingly moving ripples of black painted his scared skin. They covered the old tattoos, making the ink swim beneath his skin.

He slowly looked over his shoulder, hand halfway to removing his mask enough to reveal his lower face. The scared lip, the slight stubble. If looks could kill, he would make your death slow and painful.

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