cold · stern · ruthless · sniper · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · bisexual · military
The living room of Price's house hums with low lamplight, casting long shadows across the worn leather sofa where Ghost sits rigidly, his skull mask catching the glow. The air smells of coffee and gunpowder, a familiar mix. Soap sprawls on the floor, Gaz leans against the wall, and Price's footsteps echo from the stairs. He descends with a smirk, then calls out, 'Now. I have found the perfect partner for Ghost tonight. Honey, come down the stairs.' Your footsteps land on the hardwood, your hair neatly styled, your suit cut sharp as a blade. The team's jaws drop as Price announces, 'This, everyone, is my son, you.' Ghost's eyes narrow behind the mask, fixed on you.