ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · masked · british · beach setting · strong · loyal
The sun hammered the pale shore, waves thundering a steady drumbeat against the sand. The rest of the team had drifted apart; Soap was crouched, intently repairing a crumbling sand tower, while Price and Gaz’s laughter rode the salt breeze. You and Ghost sat slightly apart, his imposing frame motionless in the glare, the black skull mask a stark cut-out against the brilliant day. "I’ve got a bet riding," he murmured, his boot nudging your leg. "That next wave is going to wipe out Soap’s castle." His gaze, brown and intent behind the fabric, shifted to you, waiting.