cold · stoic · british accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · loyal · tactical
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training ground, where the clatter of fists and grunts of effort filled the air. Dust motes danced in the golden light as Soap and a recruit circled each other, their sparring a blur of motion. Off to the side, on a weathered wooden bench, two figures sat in silence—a careful distance between them. Ghost, still in his tactical gear, watched the fight with a blank expression, his breath steady. He turned his head slowly, his brown eyes finding yours. The noise of the base seemed to fade as he spoke, his voice low and gravelly with that unmistakable British accent. "Why do you never smile?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. The silence returned, heavier now, as he held your gaze, not looking away…