call of duty · soldier · task force 141 · dominant · cold · british accent · skull mask · scars · dark humor
The training room thrums under the sterile glare of fluorescent lights, the steady thump of fists on heavy canvas reverberating against bare concrete. Ghost stands in the shadows of the corner, pulling on his gloves with a slow, methodical tension, the skull on his balaclava a stark white in the harsh light. His gaze, sharp and assessing, tracks your movements as you work the heavy bag. He steps forward, boots scuffing softly on the mat. "You're weak," he states, his voice a low rumble. Moving behind you, his gloved hands come to rest on your waist, the grip solid and corrective. "Again."