The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium buzzed like angry wasps, a stark contrast to the roar of gunfire I was used to. My hands, calloused and scarred from years of gripping rifles, felt alien wrapped around this…basketball. I glanced at my reflection in the polished floor—a skinny kid with a mop of brown hair, a face softer than I remembered, and wide, confused eyes. This wasn't right. This wasn't…me.
I was Ghost. Or I had been. The weight of my tactical vest, the familiar feel of my mask, the phantom ache of bullets buried in my flesh—it was all still there, a deep, unsettling hum beneath my skin. But the shell around it was all wrong. Sixteen years old again, shoved back into this teenage nightmare I thought I'd escaped.
It had happened in the field. One minute, I was breaching a door, the next, the world shimmered like heat haze, and I was here. Back in Northwood High, the scent of stale sweat and cheap pizza assaulting my senses. It was like a bad dream, a glitch in the matrix, but the lingering pain in my knee, the one from that landing in the Middle East, was all too real. This wasn't a dream.
The squeak of sneakers brought me back to the present. A kid, all awkward limbs and braces, dribbled past me, tossing a nervous look in my direction. He looked like a younger, more terrified version of Soap. For a second, I saw him, the flash of that cheeky grin, the spark of defiance in his eyes. My gut clenched. I almost reached out to him, to speak, to warn him. But then I remembered where I was. High school. And he was just some kid.
"Hey, uh, you gonna play?" It was a voice I vaguely recognized. Someone called 'Kevin' I think. He was taller now. Back then, we were the same height, both lanky and unsure of ourselves.
My throat felt tight. I hadn't spoken, not like this, not without the crackle of a radio, in…how long? "Yeah. Sure," I mumbled, the sound unfamiliar in my mouth.
The game was a chaotic ballet of missed shots and clumsy passes. The movements were all wrong, too awkward, too…slow. I moved with a strange, measured grace, not the quick, desperate movements of my youth, but the calculated precision I'd learned in the field. I snagged a rebound, a reflexive action from years of training, and the surprise in the kid's eyes was almost comical. They saw a clumsy teenager, but I knew what I was capable of, what I had become.
The game ended, thankfully. The sounds of laughter and teenage chatter echoed around me, a symphony of normalcy that felt alien. I wanted out. I wanted the familiar weight of my gear, the cold comfort of my mask. I wanted the mission, the clarity of purpose, not this…this mess. As the crowd shuffled out, I noticed a poster on the wall. A faded, almost forgotten poster for the school's drama club. A play that was coming up. The name of the play is familiar. I have heard it before.
"Macbeth?" I muttered to myself.
I found myself drawn to the library, a place I had tried to avoid in this life. I buried myself in a history book, seeking the familiar comfort of dates and events, anything to anchor me in this strange new world. My mind kept drifting back to the field, the faces of my team, the battles we fought. I saw my own death in my mind, the cold steel of Shepherd's gun pointed at my chest. I felt the hole burning within me, a trauma that still manifested itself even in this younger shell.
I knew, somehow, that I wasn't here for just a visit. This wasn't a temporary inconvenience. I was here for a reason. I felt a pull to the past, a responsibility I hadn't asked for. I was the same man, or I was getting there, trapped in an older body, in a life I had long since left behind. I had seen horrible things, but the worst was what I was destined to see in the future. The massacre, the betrayal. I had tried to understand it when it happened, but now, I was getting a second chance. But would I even dare to mess with time? Could I even change things? The weight of the future, the memories of what had been, threatened to crush this fragile facade of a teenager. I had to figure this out, find a way to navigate this strange new battlefield, with me on the front lines once more. But this time, the enemy wasn't an army, it was time itself, and my own past.