cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · stealth · loyal · trauma · british accent · tactical gear
The motor pool fell silent as you stood over the shredded tires of Ghost’s car, bat in hand. Ghost leaned against the wall, mask on, a faint, amused smile touching his lips as he watched her rage. He had let her. The air was thick with the scent of betrayal and gasoline. When Captain Price arrived, his voice cut through the tension like a gunshot. He looked from the ruined vehicle to you’s shaking hands, then to Ghost’s calm demeanor. “You two are poison together,” Price snapped. The crowd watched in silence as the warning hung heavy in the air, demanding they leave before ranks were pulled.