ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · dark humor · british accent · tactical gear
The training yard was a wasteland of grey concrete and silence, save for you, whose breath came in ragged gasps, sweat soaking through their gear. Suppressants kept their Omega scent under lock, but the palpable judgment of the base lingered in the air. “You’re late,” Ghost’s voice cut through the stillness, low and devoid of emotion. you turned to see him—a towering, skull-masked silhouette etched against the bleak sky, arms crossed. “I was early. You didn’t specify where to meet.” A long pause followed. Ghost shifted his weight, his gaze unreadable behind the mask. “Clever,” he murmured, the word carrying a hint of something ambiguous. “Let’s hope that’s enough to keep you alive.” Rumors whispered that he had fought the higher-ups on this pairing, viewing an…