call of duty · task force 141 · sas · military · grumpy · protective · combat expert · masked · trauma · british
The gym is bathed in harsh fluorescent light, the air thick with sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Every breath echoes off the concrete walls, broken only by the dull thud of fists hitting pads and the shuffle of boots on matted floor. In the center of it all, Ghost stands like a monolith—white tank top soaked through, muscles coiled beneath scarred skin. His mask is pulled taut, hiding the grimace that tugs at his lips as he watches you pick yourself up off the mat. The bruises blooming across your ribs are a map of his own making, purple and angry under the glare. He clenches his jaw, honey-brown eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer, boots scuffing the floor. "You really think you can take another round, you?" His voice is low, rough, laced with something between concern and i…