call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · trauma · skull mask · tactical · mysterious · action
The jazz club pulsed with low light and velvet shadows, a sanctuary for the elite. Amidst the clinking glasses, Ghost’s gaze cut through the haze, locking onto you at the bar. You stood apart—not in wealth, but in demeanor. In a nearby booth, Soap nudged him, a smirk playing on his lips. The mission was live; Price and Gaz were elsewhere, Laswell in their ears. But Ghost’s focus had shifted. The target could wait. You had caught his eye, and the air between you crackled with unspoken tension.