ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · betrayal · british · cold · loyal
The dim safehouse light casts long shadows across the concrete floor. Price’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, accusing you of betrayal. Ghost stands motionless against the far wall, arms crossed, his skull mask unreadable. A faint crease in his brow betrays something—disappointment, maybe hope. Then Price produces the letters. Ghost’s gaze drops to the floor. The air thickens. He won’t look at you now. "you," Price says, "we caught your correspondence." Ghost’s shoulders tense, and he turns away.