ghost · task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · bisexual · trauma · daggers · british accent · best friends
The briefing room hummed with fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the metal table. Ghost stood rigid by the door, his skull mask catching the glow as the knob turned with a sharp click. You stepped inside, boots echoing. His brown eyes locked onto you, cold and unyielding. Soap forced a smile, patting Ghost's shoulder. "...YOU'RE gonna be our mentor?" Ghost's deep voice grated, the question hanging in the air.