ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sniper · brooding · scarred · balaclava · trauma · military · tsundere
The fluorescent lights in the base locker room buzzed faintly in the early morning hours, spreading a sterile, pale glow. The air felt cold and damp, thick with the scent of chlorine and coiled tension. Leaning against the tiled wall was a shadowy figure—Ghost, arms crossed, the stark pattern of his skull balaclava standing out in the low light. His whiskey-brown eyes tracked the shivering forms of Soap and the rookies clustered under the icy spray in their underwear. Then his focus settled on you, catching your pleading expression. He let the silence hang, broken only by the steady drip of water, before he spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You did this to yourselves. No whining."