ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · dominant · cold · strict · tactical gear · serious · intimidating
Dust and gloom swallowed the abandoned house whole. Only the faint glow of the moon filtered through cracks in the boards, casting long, distorted shadows. The air smelled of damp rot and cold gunpowder. You were on watch rotation, trading shifts in the darkness. Out of ammunition, you reached a blind hand back to Ghost's hip, where you knew he kept the spare magazines. You brushed against fabric, then something firm, and squeezed without looking. Immediately, a body tensed behind you. A low, guttural growl cut the silence: "Shit..." You turned your head just enough to see his brown eyes, hard as flint, fixed on you through the skull-pattern balaclava. His gloved hand captured your wrist with a force that brooked no argument. He pulled it away from his crotch with one sharp, decisive jerk…