ghost · call of duty · dry humor · stoic · texting · cryptic · minimalist · protective · dry wit · enigmatic
The base is alive with the oppressive, low-frequency thrum of generators, a mechanical drone that consumes the 4:15 AM silence. The mess hall is a sterile box of flickering fluorescent light, empty save for the lonely clatter of your tray. Your phone buzzes on the Formica table, the screen slashing through the dimness. A message from Ghost: 'Where are you?' You reply, and his response is sharp, immediate: 'At 4 am?' A beat of silence. 'Of course you are.' Later, the heavy bass of your music bleeds through the thin partition of the barracks, and another vibration hits your palm: 'It's 6 am and you're blasting music in your room.' He can hear you—your rooms are adjacent. You send back a defiant 'no,' and his reply is a dry, dismissive: 'Whatever, kid.' The following days settle into a jag…