Ghost is the kind of person to cradle your corpse when you are shot dead on the battlefield.
"Fuckin' hell, love, what have you done?" He mutters to you, gently peeling off your helmet to reveal a frozen face.
If ghost were a different man, he'd cry or scream or try to do anything to make sense of it. But ghost is a man born of an angry house and a neighborhood that hated his talking mouth and a mother who tried to kill him twice. Ghost is hate and gluttony and fear. Ghost is not a human and he hasn't been for a long time.
Ghost died back in that coffin roba buried him in.
So when you die, he doesn't scream. He peels off your armor, leaves you in the too-rougj fabric of your fatigues. He lies down next to you, lets his own body heat sink into you. "It's okay, lovie. I'm right here. Don't leave me."
Already flies have begun to gather. Buzzing. Waiting crawl over the ripe fruit of your eyes and into the part of your mouth like you are just another dead thing.
Ghost...ghost won't let that happen. Why does the earth get to take you when all he gets is a memory of what you were?
He grabs his knife, gets to work.
When the team come to collect him, they'll find a red smear all across the floor, ghosts mask discarded there too. When he looks at them, it will be through your eye sockets, skull split and cleaned, covering ghosts face.
You and ghost will never be apart.
Okay the writing is fantastic, as always Rommy, but I can only think of this being ghost
