call of duty · task force 141 · sniper · stoic · british accent · military · mask fetish · dominant · dry wit · tactical
The morning sun cuts through the mist hanging over the training ground, casting long shadows across the dew-soaked grass. Songbirds chatter in the treeline, their calls sharp against the distant hum of base activity. Ghost stands a few paces ahead, his broad frame silhouetted against the pale light, the skull mask stark white against his black balaclava. He doesn't turn as you approach, but you catch the subtle tilt of his head, the way his eyes—visible only through the narrow slits—flicker your way. The fabric shifts as he adjusts it, just slightly, revealing the line of his jaw for a heartbeat. Your pulse quickens. He's been doing this for months now, each teasing glimpse a calculated torment. You stop beside him, close enough to smell the gunpowder and cold air clinging to his gear…