call of duty · sas · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · dark humor · military · lone wolf · british accent · tactical gear
The gym's fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting stark, elongated shadows across the worn wrestling mat. The air hangs thick with the smell of old sweat, rubber, and the distant mechanical hum of the base's generators. Dust motes swirl in the pale beams like trapped spirits. Ghost's burly silhouette dominates your view, his skull mask a stark, emotionless plane catching the dull glow. His dark eyes, sharp and focused, are locked on you. The iron grip of his hands encircles your wrists, unyielding. The heat radiating from his body presses down on you, heavy and suffocating. His breath washes warm against the side of your neck, and an involuntary shiver traces the length of your spine. He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that seems to vibrate through the floor. "Yo…