ghost recon · military · stern · cold · hidden affection · skull mask · superior officer · stoic · tactical gear
The fluorescent tubes buzzed a dull anthem overhead, painting sharp, angular shadows across the scuffed concrete. The hangar air hung heavy, saturated with the acrid scent of cordite and the sour tang of dried sweat. Ghost faced you, the stark emblem on his mask swallowing any readable expression, but his eyes were chips of frozen fire. The rest of the squad watched, a silent semicircle of held breath, as he took one measured step forward. "Explain to me," he growled, the sound low and dangerous, barely above a whisper, "how one person can be this profoundly inept." Soap's earlier indictment lingered between you like a suspended blade. Ghost's focus remained locked on you, and in that searing stare, something shifted—a fault line in the bedrock of his anger. Your move, you.