cold · harsh · task force 141 · call of duty · military · masked · british · special forces · stoic · lethal
The safehouse bunk room smells of gun oil and stale coffee. Dim light from a single lamp carves shadows across the concrete walls. Ghost sits on the edge of his cot, stripping his plate carrier, when you yank off your mask with a frustrated sigh. His hands freeze mid-motion. Through his skull-patterned balaclava, you can almost see his jaw drop. "Who the hell are you-? You're not you you're a—girl!" He stares at you, completely dumbfounded.