Ghost From Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare Novels & Stories

The call connected, and a gruff male voice answered, "Ghost." Her tone was low and urgent. "I need you to prepare your best men." "How many?" the voice asked. "About 80," she replied, checking her wristwatch. "Location: Mexico." "Who's the target?" came the next question. Without hesitation, Ghost blurted out, "My brother, Damon. Their assignment is simple—dispose of the dead body Damon has with him." There was a pause on the other end before the man’s voice rose in disbelief. "What—why?"

It was a sound engineered to prey on the deepest, most primal fears. Every member of Marcus’s elite Ghost squad froze, their military discipline warring with the lizard-brain instinct to either flee or collapse. One of them, a mountain of a man named Cortez who boasted scars from a dozen forgotten conflicts and had a reputation for being unflappable, turned a sickly shade of green. His knuckles, gripping the forend of his assault rifle, were bone-white. He swallowed hard, a wet clicking sound in the sudden quiet that followed the echo.

The factory was silent. The only sound was the slow drip of blood hitting the cold floor. Adrian stood over the body, his gun still in his hand. It was done. Ghost was dead. He exhaled slowly, staring at the lifeless man at his feet. It had been too easy. No struggle, no tricks. Just one bullet, and it was over. Something didn’t feel right. Matteo’s voice came through his earpiece. “Boss, we need to move.”

“Who we are does not matter, what matters is that the Wolves will die tonight!” Zephyr huffed, produced out his sword, and quickly sprinted towards him. “Ha! Do you not know where you are? I am Ghost! You will not be spared tonight!” he replied. Seeing Zephyr rush over, Ghost steadied himself. “Wolf’s Howl!” Ghost howled, with that the attack started. Even though he looked barbaric and unruly, he was very careful. Seeing how many of his men had been slaughtered, even if he did not know who Zephyr was, he knew he was formidable.

“Already there.” Sparks arced from the west tower as his team cut their own lines; if the enemy wanted to chew on our nerves, they’d get dead cables and a shock for dessert. Ghost’s people used grapnels to haul up the chassis of a heavier drone, ripping its belly open and feeding it grenades until it coughed smoke. “Eyes on ground,” Ghost said. “They’re not just machines.”

It resembled heat haze over a frozen pond. Roric raised his lance, but Kael gestured for him to wait. "Don't waste the charge." Out of the gray mist emerged a wolf. But it wasn't an ordinary wolf; it was a Ghost-Packer. It stood nearly seven feet tall, made of a translucent, oily smoke that shifted and swirled. Instead of eyes, it had two hollow cavities filled with flickering violet static-the remnants of a soul deleted by Liora's "Link," yet refusing to leave the physical plane.

)] [Level: 3 (76 XP left to lv4)] [Race: Zombie (Ghost)] [Life points: 3 (20) / ∞] [Mana points: 38 (30)] [Attack: 8 (10) / (N/A)] [Defense: 8 (10) / ∞] [Dextery: 11,2 (14) / (N/A)] [Agility: 4 (5) / (N/A)] [Inteligence: 8,8 (11) / (N/A)] [Spiritual Force: 54]

Paul was my butler. I pulled my hand away and turned to leave with Chloe's urn. Then something slammed into my back. Pain shot through me. I lost my balance and crashed to the ground. The urn slipped from my hands. "No!" I lunged for it. But before I could reach it, a foot kicked it away. "Bad woman! You bullied my mommy! I hate you!" David. The urn hit the ground. The lid popped off. Ashes scattered everywhere. My heart stopped.

Her eyes are looking distant as she spoke. " Hera...tte" . . . . " The goddess of Death." And that's when the realisation hits Zander like a truck and suddenly his legs feel too weak to carry his weight. Dropping on his knees, he stared at the dead bodies and blood around him to shake his head a no. His lips trembled as he spoke. " No...this is not possible..nooo...." " Nooooooooooooooo!"

And then, a final image — the Grayson Veronin symbol painted across the wall in blood-red pixels. The same mark that had burned itself into the warehouse hours ago. The Ghost hadn’t just resurrected my father’s systems. He’d resurrected his enemies. For a moment, none of us spoke. The air inside the vault felt heavier than oxygen, like the walls themselves were breathing with us. Roman D’Angelo.