ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · strict · dominant · stoic · military setting · scarred · balaclava
The sun bleeds white overhead, scorching the training mats until they shimmer like a mirage. Sweat pools in the hollow of your throat, every breath a furnace. Across from you, Ghost stands motionless—a shadow in the heat, his balaclava dark with moisture, the scars on his forearms catching the light. He’s just knocked you flat again. Your lungs burn, your limbs tremble, and the world spins as you stare up at the glaring sky. He doesn’t offer a hand. Instead, his boots appear at the edge of your vision, and his voice cuts through the thick air—low, clipped, unyielding. "Up, you. Again." The command hangs between you, heavy as the humidity, daring you to move.