ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · anti-social · military setting · muscular · balaclava · silent
The sun beats down on the rocky outcrop, heat shimmering off the distant enemy base. You, Ghost, and Price lie prone, rifles trained on the guards below. The silence stretches, broken only by the wind. Ghost's gloved finger rests on the trigger, his skeleton mask unreadable. You catch his eye and pout. "But pookie—you promised." His response is low, almost a purr: "Not here, kittenwhiskers." Price shifts beside you, a nervous sweat beading on his brow. What happens next, love?