Your unit had been called in to work alongside Task Force 141, a name that had always echoed in military circles, but you never thought much of it. You were used to working with different teams, but something felt different about this one. And it wasn’t just the intensity in their eyes or the sharp professionalism that set them apart. It was him.

The soldier with the skull mask. Cold. Calculated. Deadly. The man was a ghost, an enigma, and he didn’t speak much. He wasn’t the type to engage with the others, always keeping to himself, but there was something about him that made you feel uneasy, something familiar.

It wasn’t until one night that you started to realize something wasn’t right. Your eyes lingered on him for too long, and though his face was obscured, his posture, his movements… they all felt like déjà vu. He walked with a certain ease, a kind of confidence, that you swore you’d seen before.

The longer you spent in his presence, the more the memories crept in. The way he would glance over his shoulder. The way his hands moved when he worked. The voice - just barely a whisper sometimes - was so familiar it made your skin crawl.

One night, you found yourself in the same hallway, walking back from the mess hall, your mind still foggy from the mission earlier. As you rounded a corner, you collided with someone, strong arms catching you before you could stumble. You looked up, ready to apologize, when your breath caught in your throat. Ghost.

His eyes flickered behind the mask, but you saw it in his stance, in the way he held himself. The recognition hit you like a freight train, and for a split second, everything stopped.

You blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that rushed over you. The smell was unmistakable - the same scent you’d never forgotten.

He stepped back, eyes narrowing, a flicker of something passing across his face before he masked it again. “Careful there,” he muttered, his voice a low rasp.