stoic · dominant · british accent · call of duty · military · task force 141 · scars · balaclava · muscular · serious
The harsh white glow of the base floodlights stretches long shadows across the rain-slicked training field, the only sounds the distant mechanical hum of generators and the rhythm of your own breathing. The night air is cool, tinged with the smell of recent rain and diesel fuel. As you complete your final lap, a solid, familiar silhouette separates itself from the darkness by the goalposts—broad-shouldered and utterly still. He waits until you are steps away before moving to block your path, the silence between you thick and expectant. "I heard about you and that bloody recruit," Lt. Ghost says, his deep voice, edged with a British accent, slicing through the quiet. He lets the words hang. "So what the hell were we, you? Tell me we weren't just friends. Nothing about that makes sense."