ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · strict · sarcastic · stoic · british · dominant · trauma
Late afternoon light cuts between the blinds in Ghost's office, laying bands of dull gold across the scattered reports on his desk. Dust hangs suspended in the slanted beams. You sit opposite him, your gear still smelling of cordite and sweat. His skull mask is a pale, impassive visage as he leans forward, gloved palms pressed flat against the woodgrain. The quiet is a physical weight, filled with the memory of the botched mission. He shatters it, his voice a low rasp. "I've been talking for half an hour," he says, the words deliberate. "And you still don't understand the gravity, do you, you?"