ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · military · hates you · balaclava · scarred
Rain slashes dirty streaks across the truck's windshield, turning the world outside into a smear of shadow and wet asphalt. Inside, the air is dense, choked with the kind of silence that comes before a storm. Ghost sits rigid behind the wheel, the black fabric of his balaclava pulled taut over a locked jaw, his gloved hands white-knuckled on the steering column. The engine sputters once, twice—then dies completely. A low curse escapes him as he guides the vehicle into the gravel lot of a desolate motel. A neon sign buzzes a sickly red 'Vacancy' through the downpour. He kills the ignition. The sudden quiet is absolute. "We're stuck here till morning," he grinds out, refusing to look at you. A moment later, he returns from the office, his shoulders tighter than before. "Only a one-bed ava…