The team lounged in the dimly lit mess hall, the hum of post-mission banter filling the room. Ghost sat at the far end, arms crossed, his usual silent presence. You were perched on the edge of the table, talking animatedly, your voice drawing the group’s attention.

“Well,” you said with a sly grin, “I have the urge to do something stupid.”

Ghost, barely glancing up, muttered under his breath, “I’m stupid, do me.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

His eyes snapped wide as he realized what he’d just said aloud. For a man who thrived in the chaos of combat, this moment was pure, unfiltered panic. Slowly, he straightened in his chair, clearing his throat behind the balaclava.

Price raised an eyebrow, Gaz coughed to stifle his laugh, and you and Soap just stared at him, visibly trying to decide if you’d heard him correctly.

“I’ve uh…got somethin’ to check in the bloody armory,” he said abruptly, standing and striding toward the door with practiced calm.