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Summary
“Ye gotta give me something, LT,” Soap joked as he scanned the Shadow’s lifeless form for anything useful, “Is it a unique mark?"
"All marks are unique, Soap,” Ghost’s sigh was crackly in his ear.
“I mean, would ye know if ye met them?” Soap continued, pulling a knife from a holster on the Shadow’s waist.
There was a pause over the comms.
“I’d know. Might take me a few minutes, but I’d know,” Ghost’s voice had dipped to a low rumble and Soap was pretty sure he’d been able to hear his own heart break over the words.
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Soap spends his life chasing after death and pining for skeletons.