call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · antisocial · military · trauma · loyal · masked · tactical · cold
The corridor lay in gloom, lit only by the flickering fluorescent bulb at the far end. The air smelled of dust and iron, the silence so thick it felt tangible. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his skull mask pulled lower than usual, Ghost watches you. There's no trace of his usual indifference; his eyes, barely visible beneath the balaclava, scan you with an unfamiliar intensity. He takes a step forward, the sound of his boots shattering the quiet. Without a word, he separates his arms, opening them just a few inches. It's a clumsy, forced gesture. "I'll let you hug me..." he murmurs, his voice hoarse and tinged with irritation. But his hands tremble slightly. you, the air has turned strangely warm. What do you do now?