((Nyar, RP for you-know-who-you-are))

It had been one... wait... no, two years. Thank God for Morgaine's calender. Ghost probably would have still been in the late '80s if not for her insisting on keeping updated calenders. Two years since he last saw her, two years since they last spoke, two years... it seemed more like two hundred. Two million or two lifetimes to fill the gap. Not two measely years.

Ghost had changed drastically in the two years. He had invented a lot of things, constantly thinking and working. Building or shaping something, and finishing it too. Morgaine wouldn't let him waste anything. No such thing as failure to her, and Ghost was rather glad because if he had given up on half the things he started, he wouldn't be stepping outside today. Ghost had made Hands, since his are unusable. They were metal skeletons with microchips that had the cordination of an acrobat, and Ghost could make the Hands crush a wall with the mere flicker of a thought. They were a bit too sensative, so he had to be careful.

Another invention of his was the SpyGlass. It was like a contact, but covered Ghost's left eye so it looked identical to the right, and even copied movement his left eye muscles made to make it look like a regular eye. But there were no functions other than the mirrage. Ghost preferred it that way. He liked what his left eye could do. The SpyGlass just made him look a bit more normal.

The bar-code tattoo was covered by his bangs. Ghost had no streaks of green anymore, just his raven-black hair that swept toward his face with more-or-less chin-length strands. He was as pale as ever, and his outfit had changed. He wore a black jacket that hugged his rather muscular torso (Morgaine had watched his diet for the two years), but still held the longer-than-fingers sleeves he preferred. Dark blue jeans actually fitted him for once, instead of the baggy rags Ghost usually wore. And in his backpack was artillery which had enough ammo to take down a small army by itself. His Hands were also stored in there, along with some other provisions.

Ghost was armed, ready, and waiting in town. Yes, he was in public after two years. And it still hadn't changed. The terrorism hadn't changed skeptics at all. He sighed, stood from the rail he was leaning against and dove into the seas of faces. <Codename: Gizem. I know you can hear me. Answer or we'll take you by force.> A cruel trick he was playing, but Ghost hadn't only changed in appearance. His personality had also altered. Ghost stopped, and leant against another railing, directly across the street of a building. The building was the restraunt Gizem now worked at. Ghost had come to visit. <Codename: Gizem. Answer now. Five... four...>

There was no joke about the force. It's what he had all the fucking guns for.