Chapter Text
The briefing room smelled like burned coffee, gun oil, and the faint electric hum of pending disaster—which, in fairness, was pretty standard whenever Soap and Ghost were assigned an op together.
“Alright, you two,” Price sighed, looking about seventy percent done with life. “This is a simple infil—”
“Nothing’s ever simple with us,” Soap muttered.
Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “—a simple infil, unless someone,” glare, “says the wrong name.”
Soap frowned. “What, like Ghost?”
The lights flickered. The floor rumbled.
Ghost—who had been leaning silently against the wall like a sentient slab of intimidation—slowly lifted his head.
His mask’s eye sockets glowed.
Glowed.
“Johnny…” Ghost growled, voice suddenly layered like someone stacked five versions of him in a trench coat. “Why’d you go and do that?”
Soap blinked. “…I was just sayin’—”
Ghost took one heavy step, and the entire table screeched backwards like it wanted no part of this.
“Right,” Price muttered, stepping away. “I’m out."
He left. Actually left. Just walked out like a man refusing to die today.
*THE OP*
They were meant to sneak into an enemy compound. Easy.
Except the moment they reached the perimeter, Gaz whispered over comms:
“Soap, you and Ghost take the west side—”
The world dropped about two shades darker.
Wind whipped into a frenzy. Birds flew backward. Somewhere, a car alarm blared.
Ghost shuddered like someone plugged him into a nuclear generator.
“That’s two…” he crooned, voice deep enough to vibrate Soap’s skeleton.
“Gaz, STOP SAYING HIS NA—” Soap tried.
But it was too late. Ghost was already levitating approximately a little off the ground.
“Johnny,” he hissed, “let me kill them.”
Soap pointed at the compound, where guards milled around completely unaware of the supernatural menace building like a storm cloud in a ski mask.
“Aye, that’s the plan, big man.”
Ghost reached out and touched the gate. It dissolved. Not broke. Not melted. Not even exploded.
It ceased to exist like it heard the word “Ghost” and panicked.
Soap stared. “Right...cool. Terrifyin’, but cool.”
*GHOST: NOW AT 200% POWER*
Inside, alarms blared as Ghost walked forward with the smug confidence of someone whose mere presence violated several laws of physics.
A guard popped out.
“OH NO, IT’S GHO—”
BOOM.
Ghost teleported. TELEPORTED. He reappeared behind the man like a horror movie glitch and absolutely ragdolled him into a wall.
“That’s three,” Ghost whispered, eyes glowing brighter. “One more… and I might start tasting colours.”
Soap smacked the comms. “NO ONE SAY HIS NAME! HE’S ALREADY WEE BIT FERAL—”
But Price’s voice crackled through. “Ghost, status?”
Soap screamed. The sky screamed.
Ghost ascended like an eldritch piñata of violence.
“Oh bloody hell,” Price muttered distantly as thunder cracked.
*THE FINAL FORM*
By now Ghost was: Floating, Glowing, Distorting reality, And somehow taller.
Soap grabbed him by the tac vest. “Riley. SIMON. Look at me.”
Ghost paused mid-levitation.
“…Johnny?”
Soap cupped his cheeks through the mask. “Come back tae me, ye dramatic skeleton bastard.”
Ghost blinked. Slowly, his boots touched the ground. Then a surviving guard crawled out from behind a crate and wheezed:
“G… Ghost?”
All bets were off.
Ghost roared, “THAT’S FIVE!” and went absolutely feral-deity-mode, warping through enemies like Doom Slayer on espresso.
Soap simply watched, hands on his hips. “Honestly,” he muttered fondly, “that’s my man.”
*AFTERMATH*
The compound was in ruins. Smoldering, crumbling, and—Soap was fairly certain—slightly cursed now.
Ghost stood in the center of the wreckage, radiating dark swirling energy like a misbehaving aurora.
Soap approached.
“Si? You alright?”
Ghost tilted his head. “…I crave snacks.”
“Aye, he’s fine.”
Price groaned over comms. “I told HQ this task force was a mistake…”
Ghost cracked his neck, shadows curling around him. “Say my name again and see what happens.”
Soap smirked, stepping close enough for their vests to brush.
“Maybe later, luv.”
Ghost’s aura flickered pink.