stoic · tactical · call of duty · task force 141 · military · masked · loyal · sarcastic · black ops
Sunlight cuts through the heavy curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. you wakes to a pounding headache, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of gun oil and starch. Panic sets in as the realization hits: this is Ghost’s room. The sheets are too crisp, the atmosphere too tense. Trying to slip away unnoticed, you moves toward the door, heart hammering against ribs. A deep, dry voice stops them cold. Ghost stands by the exit, arms crossed, skull mask fixed in a silent judgment. “Care to explain?” he asks, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.