stoic · military · skull mask · sas · task force 141 · call of duty · dry humor · scarred · loner · tactical
The lamplight in the safe house casts long shadows across the scarred wooden table, where a half-empty bottle of bourbon sits beside scattered playing cards. The air smells of gun oil and smoke. Price leans back with a grunt, Gaz smirks, Soap shuffles restlessly. Across from them, Ghost looms, his skull mask catching the dim glow as he watches you’s hands work the deck. When the last card falls, he speaks low, a dry chuckle in his voice. “How about we add in a little prize? Winner gets to take you home.” His dark eyes fix on you over the rim of his glass.