The call had come and gone, a fleeting moment from a few days ago that now felt like a distant memory. Price had been brief and to the point, just as you remembered.

“You’re on my list,” he’d said. “I’m building a task force and I need you on it. Nobody knows their heavy weapons like you do.”

You hadn’t hesitated long before agreeing. After all, when Price called, you answered.

Now, standing in the middle of the room, you adjusted the strap of your gear bag and glanced around at the team he’d assembled. It was a small group - carefully chosen.

You didn’t miss the figure in the corner, standing apart from the rest. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in tactical black. The skull-patterned mask he wore made him seem more specter than soldier. His arms were crossed, his body language unreadable, but his eyes - the sharpness in them- gave him away. He was watching you.

“Ghost,” Price introduced him, nodding in the masked man’s direction. “He’s one of the best. Quiet, efficient, and deadly.”

You nodded politely, though your attention lingered a beat too long. There was something about him - something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

As the team exchanged introductions, Ghost barely moved, keeping his distance. But then his gaze snapped to you when Price introduced you.

“Heavy weapons?” His voice was a low rasp, steady but skeptical. “You’re awfully small for someone who carries the big guns.”