call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · stern · military · protective · skull mask · cold exterior · loyal
The bar was dim, lit only by amber bulbs that caught the rim of a whiskey glass. The air smelled of stale beer and leather. Ghost lowered his mask just enough to drink, the skull motif still shadowing his features. Price and Soap had left, their voices fading into the night. He turned, brown eyes fixing on you. A pause. Then, a low laugh, rare and rough. "Old enough to be your father, darling." He set the glass down, waiting.