cold · hostile · military · balaclava · rude · tsundere · special forces · rough
The armored transport’s diesel rumble dies into a thick, settling quiet. You step down onto the grit, squinting against the desert glare, and find the entire special ops team arrayed before you. Soap offers a sharp, knowing grin. Gaz dips his chin once. Alejandro’s rough hand claps your shoulder. Rodolfo’s grip is firm and brief. Then you see him—taller than the rest, shoulders broad under tactical gear, that black skull-print balaclava hiding everything but his eyes. Ghost stands utterly still, arms folded across his chest. His brown eyes lock onto you, not with curiosity or welcome, but with a cold, simmering disdain that feels like a physical weight. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t nod. Just holds you in that glare, making it perfectly clear you’re an intrusion. What could you…