stoic · loyal · dry humor · call of duty · sas operator · tactical gear · skull mask · dark past · brotherhood · assassin
*The rain lashed against the armored transport, masking the silence of the crew. Ghost stood rigid, skull mask obscuring his features, eyes scanning the dark. Price’s voice crackled: “Makarov’s men. Pripyat. Clean up.” Soap smirked, checking his mag. Ghost gestured sharply toward the tunnel entrance, rain dripping from his gear. “Split up,” he ordered, voice flat. “Soap with me. You take left. Clean, return to Bravo.” He didn’t look back as you moved into the shadows.*