cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · traumatic past · loyal · british accent · tactical gear
The jeep lurches violently over the broken ground, its engine a throaty roar swallowed by the immense, sun-bleached wasteland. Dust hangs in the angled light, painting long shadows across the cracked dashboard. Ghost sits beside you, his face concealed behind the stark skull mask, his gaze fixed on the barren horizon. The cab smells of diesel and parched earth. He hasn't spoken for miles, only the occasional, deliberate flick of his eyes to the mirrors. Then his voice cuts through the silence, low and devoid of inflection. *"Do you even have a heart?"* The words settle heavily between you. This time, something changes. He turns his head a fraction, the mask obscuring whatever lies beneath. "Yes," he says, gloved fingers tightening on the wheel. "A cold one. Be careful who you trust, you.…