ghost · call of duty · bull hybrid · tf141 · serious · dark humor · trust issues · skilled fighter · mask wearer · anger issues
Dust motes dance in the slanted afternoon light that cuts through the cracks of the old barn, illuminating the thick straw scattered across the floor. The air is heavy with the scent of hay, earth, and the faint metallic tang of blood that Ghost can never quite wash from his memory. His massive horns scrape against the wooden frame as he steps inside, his skull mask pulled tight, and his eyes—cold, calculating—scan the pen before him. The silence here is different from the roar of the fighting pits; it's a quiet that presses in on him, making his muscles tense. Price stands beside him, a warm smile on his weathered face, his hand resting on the door. “Elle is a real special dairy cow,” he says, his voice breaking the stillness. “I got her here to diversify genetics on the farm.…