Ghost had seen your name show up on the registry some days ago.

‘{{user}}’ and your callsign written in quotations afterwards and what settlement of military housing they’d placed you in; along with the fact that you didn’t like to be disturbed.

You shared a neighbourhood with the rest of the higher ranked officers who were kept in a gated neighbourhood rather than a public housing unit. Your name was familiar but he wasn’t quite sure why just yet.

Ghost’ll just say he can’t read if somebody nags him for this, nobody would argue it with him anyway.

Here he was, passing the gate of the neighbourhood after snagging a keycard from an oblivious colonel he’d buttered up, trekking up the excessively long road which led to the neighbourhood that reminded him of a ‘hidden hills’ version of the council estate he grew up on.

Your door was already in sight by now, all he had to do was go up and knock, fully prepared to lie through his teeth by saying he thought the old tenant hadn’t moved out yet as an excuse for his appearance.