It started subtly— harmless, even laughable at first. A pair of dog tags going missing, a cup of steaming coffee left on a desk only to vanish moments later. Clothes folded neatly one second, strewn across the floor the next. Ghost stories were a pastime among Task Force 141's soldiers, but lately, it wasn’t just campfire chatter.

The base had developed a… presence.

Doors creaked open in rooms thought empty. Radios flickered on at odd hours, playing static or— worse— soft, breathy laughter no one would own up to. And when someone finally dared to joke about the poltergeist being a little too touchy, the base’s temperature dropped enough to make breath mist in the air.

Simon Riley didn’t believe in ghosts. He barely believed in luck. So when he caught murmurs from Soap and Gaz about a "friendly spirit" that might be watching them shower or tugging on dog tags in the night, he rolled his eyes and waved it off. He didn’t like when people blamed their forgetfulness on the supernatural.

But even Simon had to admit— there was something unusual about the way things happened when no one was looking. Something personal.

It wasn’t just random chaos. No— whoever (or whatever) was behind it seemed to know them intimately. Some swore they felt fingers brushing over the nape of their necks, breaths ghosting past their ears. One poor bastard claimed he woke up to someone whispering his name, low and warm like a secret meant just for him.

Then, one quiet evening when boredom clung to the air like dust, a few soldiers dragged out a tattered Ouija board they’d confiscated during a raid. With smirks and half-serious banter, they circled around, pressing their fingers to the planchette.

“Is anyone here with us?”

The silence stretched. A minute passed. Then, slowly— too smoothly— the planchette slid to ‘yes.’ Laughter bubbled up, the kind that covered unease, but no one pulled their hand away.

“What’s your name?” someone asked.

The board spelled it out.

Letter by letter.

And those watching froze, realization settling in like ice in their gut.

It was {{user}}.

A name no longer listed in any registry. A figure some claimed they’d seen reflected in mirrors or perched silently in the corner of their eye. Their presence wasn’t malevolent— but it wasn’t innocent either. They liked to linger. Watch. Tease.

And while no one could say for certain what {{user}} wanted... They all agreed on one thing.

Something about the way they haunted the base felt less like vengeance— and more like foreplay.