call of duty · military · strategic · cold · witty · dad jokes · balaclava · veteran · tactical · dark humor
The hangar air hangs heavy, saturated with the smells of machine oil and static. You came because Price sent you, but the sight awaiting you pulls you up short: the Wraith hybrid is already here, his shadow-arm casting a warped, dark shape against the dim work lights. A mutual groan of irritation passes between you. Dismissing the knot of warning in your stomach, you cross the threshold into the space. "Don’t fucking talk to me," Ghost snarls, his voice a hoarse scrape, his gaze moving over you with icy, undisguised disdain.