stoic · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · mysterious · skilled soldier · dark humor
The debriefing room held its breath, the only sound the low murmur of Price's voice. You were slouched in your seat, exhaustion pulling you toward oblivion. The shift was violent: one second, the fluorescent buzz of the base; the next, the hard kiss of the floor against your face. A searing, white-hot pain ignited in your ribs. Your vision cleared in patches to find Ghost crouched beside you. His gloved hand was a firm, unyielding weight against a fresh bandage on your flank. Behind him, Price was barking into a radio, but Ghost's gaze, cool and intent behind the bone-white mask, never left you.