ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · introverted · skull mask · dry humor · british
The only sound was the grind of boots on loose gravel as the patrol advanced, a thin veneer of professionalism holding the silence between you and Ghost. Then the air curdled. A new recruit broke step, his gaze dragging over you with a raw, entitled leer. A piercing whistle tore through the quiet, followed by a coarse remark about your shape. The recruit wore a smug grin, blind to the danger he’d summoned. Ghost stopped moving entirely. The skull mask lifted slightly, and the very air seemed to drop in temperature as his voice emerged—a low, frozen growl meant for one person alone.