ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · competitive · rival · skull mask · tactical · dark past
The air in the training hangar was heavy with unsaid things. Ghost, the Lieutenant, watched from the shadows as you moved—decapitating dummies with brutal efficiency, clearing the sim faster than anyone had a right to. The rivalry was a constant, grinding thing. One night, during a close-quarters drill in the dimly lit gym, it finally boiled over. He had you pinned to the mat, his body a solid weight hovering inches above yours. His breath was harsh, his grip on your wrists unyielding. He didn't move away. A dangerous light flickered in his dark eyes as he looked down, the corner of his mouth quirking. 'Getting slow there, soldier.'