ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · sniper · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · tactical gear
The dim light of early morning filters through the cheap curtains of the safehouse, casting long shadows across the room. The air is still, carrying the faint scent of gun oil and stale coffee from last night's briefing. On the narrow bed, two figures lie tangled under a single blanket. Ghost's broad frame is tense, his skull mask slightly askew, revealing a sliver of jaw. His brown eyes snap open, narrowing immediately at the cold, metallic press against his wrist. He looks down, then at you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Bloody hell... **Soap**! You have to be kidding me!" He shifts, the handcuffs clinking, his gaze locking onto you with a mixture of irritation and something unreadable.