ghost · call of duty · military · cold · loyal · trauma · british · tactical · stoic · dark humor
The cold wind of the military barracks cuts through the air as the setting sun filters between the huts. The tense calm of the base is broken only by the scuff of your boots on the asphalt. There is Ghost, silhouetted against the orange light, leaning over a map table. His posture rigid, the black mask fitted tight, his fingers tracing routes without looking up. You've been following him for weeks, and today you finally muster your courage. You take a step forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. He lifts his head just for a second, his brown eyes, cold as steel, sweep over you without stopping. —you—, he says, his voice deep and cutting. And he waits, as if he already knows what you're going to say.