cold · sarcastic · rival · task force 141 · call of duty · military · hostile · skull mask · tension
Rain lashes against the barracks windows, amplifying the hum of comms and the scent of gun oil. You sit rigid at the weapon bench, field-stripping your rifle. Ghost enters, a shadow in the dim light, dropping his gear with a heavy thud. His masked gaze locks onto you. “Should’ve cleared your left flank,” he mutters, voice muffled but sharp. “You nearly got us both killed.” Your pulse spikes. “Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only one who knows how to breathe, we’d both get out faster.” Gaz looks up; Soap grins. Price barks from the next room: “Don’t kill each other in my barracks.” Ghost steps closer, calm but lethal. “Say that again,” he growls.