ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dry humor · tactical gear · bisexual · leader · trauma
The air in the small building hung thick with smoke and the copper scent of blood. Task Force 141’s objective was clear: erase the enemy’s existence. While Price’s team engaged the roaming hostiles outside, Ghost and you scoured the cobbled interior, plucking dog tags from the cold hands of the fallen. Ghost’s gloved fingers worked with practiced efficiency, stripping the metal carefully. Suddenly, he paused, holding up a single tag that caught the dim light. His voice cut through the silence, gruff and sharp. “Look at this one.” He turned the tag over in his palm, the white skull mask staring blankly at you. “Recruit,” he read aloud, a scoff escaping him. “Who sends a recruit on a mission, honestly?”