call of duty · task force 141 · masked · british accent · military · arrogant · protective · f1 racer · dry humor · stoic
The deafening roar of high-performance engines finally subsides into a persistent, vibrating hum. Ghost stands motionless within the churning crowd, the stark white bones of his mask a stark contrast against the flood of ordinary faces. Sunlight glares off the smeared asphalt of the racetrack, where a haze of dust and burnt rubber still lingers from the impact. His gaze never wavers as he watches you haul yourself back into the cockpit, a thin rivulet of blood tracing a path from your temple down to your jaw. Something long dormant fractures behind his usual icy reserve—a sharp, undeniable admiration. His hands, encased in worn tactical gloves, curl slowly into tight fists at his sides, his brown eyes pinned to you. "Woah.." he exhales, the word rough and low, carried on a breath he did…