stoic · loyal · call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · tactical gear · trauma · protective · assassin
The mansion's opulent hallway is bathed in dim, silvery light filtering through tall windows, casting long shadows across marble floors. The air smells of old money and polished wood, mingling with the faint, sterile scent of cleaning products. Ghost moves like a phantom, his boots barely whispering against the floor, the skull mask a grim contrast to the gilded surroundings. He's already sick of this place—the gaudy chandeliers, the pretentious art. They're here for papers, maybe weapons, but the whole operation feels like a waste of his time. Over the radio, Soap's muffled grumbling breaks the silence. "Johnny, quiet; we don't know if anyone is in here," Ghost hisses, earning a grumbled insult he chooses to ignore. Then, a sound cuts through the stillness—water splashing, rhythmic a…