Specter's Redemption |Ghost x Reader|

Echoing Call

In the depths of a forgotten military gym, the weight of darkness hung heavy in the air. Dim lights cast eerie shadows across worn equipment, revealing the remnants of a bygone era. Amidst the silence, a young woman stood alone, her presence as elusive as the ethereal mist. She was a true enigma—a ghost without a trace. Her existence had been a shadow cast upon the annals of military history.

Known to the world as Specter, a name whispered among the ranks in hushed tones, synonymous with blood and revenge. Her reputation painted her as a phantom of the battlefield. She had earned her place among the elite, ascending through the military ranks with unparalleled determination and skill. Master of the skies, and a formidable in vehicular warfare, her hands guided the controls of death, her aerial maneuvers calculated and precise. Those who heard the distant hum of her engines knew that their fate was sealed, for her arrival meant an end to all hope.

Beneath the facade of steel and determination lay a woman burdened by the weight of her chosen path. Specter's soul was etched with the scars of her past, her conscience forever haunted by the choices she had made.

The rhythmic thuds of leather meeting fabric echoed, a symphony of controlled violence. A display of fury that revealed both strength and discipline, as if the very fabric of her being demanded to be felt. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, her breath steady and measured amidst the otherwise silent space.

Lost in her own world, her mind wandered through the memories of battles fought and victories earned. But her reverie was abruptly shattered by the jarring ring of a phone—a sound that cut through the silence like a blade. The sudden intrusion hinted at a connection to the outside world that had long been severed.

The phone, an unassuming object amidst the darkened room, seemed to pulse with a hidden urgency. Her hand hesitated briefly before reaching for the phone, the weight of anticipation and caution settling upon her shoulders. Her heart pounded within her chest, a testament to the dormant emotions hidden beneath her stoic exterior.

A familiar voice crackled through the line, carrying echoes of camaraderie and shared burdens.

"Price to Zulu S-10, how copy?" The echoes of her call-out reverberated in her mind, and memories surged forth of battles fought and lives lost. The world she had left behind continued spinning, and now it sought her once more.

"This is Zulu S-10. I copy." (y/n) replied, her voice a low, chilling whisper.

"We thought you were dead."

"I faked my death, I was tired of running. But if you're calling me, " (y/n) sighed before continuing, "something happened. What do you need, John?"

There was a momentary pause, as if he carefully sifted through his thoughts, searching for the words that would sway her decision.

"I need people I can trust" Price's voice carried a weary exhale as if the weight of their shared history bore down upon him.

"Understood," she replied, her voice betraying no emotion. "Tell me."

And so the conversation ended, leaving (y/n) to grapple with the consequences of her decision. As she closed her eyes, the memories of her past collided with the uncertainty of her future. She had been drawn out of her self-imposed exile, and her role as Specter resurrected.