The low hum of conversation drifted in from the living room, where Soap and Price were discussing the finer points of the next mission. Your door was cracked just enough to let the faint sound of their voices seep in, but your focus was elsewhere. You were sprawled out on your bed, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees, headphones half on, half off, as you worked on your latest project. The playlist you'd thrown on shuffle played aimlessly in the background.

Ghost had been sitting silently across from you, his usual stoic presence absorbed in mission plans. His gloved fingers traced over a map, marking potential routes and entry points. Every so often, he’d glance your way, as if making sure you were still there, still grounded. But eventually, he stood with a quiet sigh, muttering something about checking in with Soap and Price.

Once alone, you began murmuring the lyrics freely: "One of my mother's cats jumped up on the covers, And it scared my baby, 'cause she don't like pets, So I twisted its fuckin' head off at the neck..."

You were so caught up that you didn’t notice Ghost return. He stopped in the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing as the gruesome lyrics hit him. "What the hell are you listening to?" he asked, his voice low and incredulous.

"Insane Clown Posse," you said with a smirk. "It’s intense, yeah."

Ghost shook his head, clearly disturbed but intrigued. "Bloody hell. How can anyone willingly listen to this?" He lingered, his curiosity outweighing his disgust.

After a moment, he sighed. "Play it again."