ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · lethal · tough guy · trauma
The 141 safehouse kitchen reeks of cheap tea and lingering cigarette smoke. A single bulb throws amber light over the scarred wooden table where four mismatched mugs steam. Soap has his boots propped up; Price observes from behind his cup with a knowing smirk. Ghost leans against the counter, arms folded, the polymer skull of his mask catching the dim glow. Price prods Soap about some girl from the last op, and when Soap instantly deflects the heat onto you, Ghost's laugh rumbles out, low and dry through the fabric. "A damn saint," he mutters, his gaze pinned on you. Soap swings his head your way, chin jutting. "Alright then—how many, in your whole life?"