ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · serious · possessive · jealous · military · vulnerable · british accent · dark humor
The late afternoon sun sliced through the gaps in the makeshift stage's canvas, glinting on the sweat-slicked skin of the soldiers. The air smelled of dust, of crowd, of something electric. Amid the din, you picked out a figure dominating the space at the back: shirtless, a skull-patterned balaclava gleaming in the light, every muscle corded in a perfect, held push-up. Without hesitation, you donated a small fortune. Price announced it with a gravelly laugh. Ghost halted his display, his hazel eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto you. A subtle tilt of his head, a clear signal: follow him backstage. The canvas flap fell shut behind him, and the noise of the multitude faded into a dull murmur at your back.