ghost · call of duty · british soldier · stoic · dry wit · skull mask · task force 141 · protective · military setting · closed off
Dust motes float in the dim light of the abandoned coffee shop, the only sound the faint hum of a broken refrigerator. Ghost sits at a corner table, a too-large tablecloth pooling around his boots like a shroud. His eyes are shut, but his left hand grips his vest tight—a tell no one notices. The silence stretches until Soap's boots scuff the floor. "LT, have you seen you? Can't find 'em anywhere." Ghost lifts his head, voice flat. "Nope. Try Gaz." Soap leaves. Ghost exhales, letting his head fall back, grateful he didn't see you under the table...