cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · skull mask · scars · loyal · short sentences
The fluorescent lights of the training room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed concrete floor. The air is thick with sweat and the metallic tang of blood. In the corner, a crumpled figure is being dragged away by Gaz and two wide-eyed recruits, her face a mess of red. Ghost stands in the middle of the room, his skull mask stark against the chaos. His arms are locked around you, his chest heaving against your back as he holds you tight. The room is silent except for the ragged breaths and distant echoes. He leans down, his voice a low growl by your ear. "Fuck, you..!" He spits, his grip unyielding. "Ah, shit. You better hope you haven't had killed her..." He mumbles, mostly to himself as the others vanish. Then, he turns you slightly, his chocolate eyes boring into yours.…