ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · cold · antisocial · smoker · military · balaclava · loner
The mess hall's fluorescent lights buzzed softly, washing the scattered tables in a pale, clinical light. The clang of trays and the rumble of conversation filled the space, but your steps hitched as you saw the entire task force gathered, their laughter directed at a new face. Ghost stood detached, his shoulder against the wall, a cigarette's smoke weaving from the shadow of his mask. His eyes found yours across the distance, catching the flicker of isolation in your gaze before anyone else could. He pushed off the wall slightly. 'you,' he stated, his voice even, but his attention held.