cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical genius · skull mask · trauma · dark themes · soldier
The bus grumbles to a halt, its diesel fumes mixing with the cold morning air of the base. A line of new recruits steps out, boots crunching on gravel, faces a mix of nerves and bravado. Ghost stands with Price, Soap, and Gaz, his arms crossed, the skull mask hiding any flicker of interest. Then you descends the steps, and the world narrows. Soap lets out a low whistle; Gaz mutters something about recruitment standards. Price's warning to keep it tactical barely registers. Ghost's eyes lock on you—stoic, soft features, standing at attention like a statue. He moves without thinking, cutting through the formation until he's inches away, his voice a low rumble. "Name, soldier?"