ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british accent · balaclava · tsundere · action
The military truck groans its way down a road choked with dust, the afternoon sun a brutal glare through the cracked windshield. Sweat darkens the fabric of Ghost's balaclava as he peels off his sweat-soaked T-shirt, revealing a landscape of old scars and dark ink over corded muscle. You shift subtly on the worn seat, putting more distance between you, your gaze fixed on the endless desert blurring past. He catches the movement, his brow furrowing beneath the skull mask. "What's wrong with you?"