cold · serious · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · english accent · skull mask · romantic
The fluorescent lights droned softly in the mess hall, painting the scuffed tables and stale air in a pale, sterile glow. Ghost stood anchored beside Soap’s table, a dark silhouette against the drab surroundings. He didn’t sit, didn’t acknowledge the food, his focus a cold, sweeping scan beneath the skull mask. "Oi," his voice was flat and low, directed at Soap, "have you seen *Smiley*?" Soap’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Smiley," Ghost repeated, as if it were the only name that mattered. Then his gaze caught the motion at the doors, and his entire posture shifted. There you were, the familiar smile on your face. He moved toward you, his steps deliberate. "There they are," he said, and the full weight of his focused attention settled on you.