cold · calculating · sas operator · call of duty · military · violent · cookies · no romance · enigmatic
The yellow glow from the barracks lamppost stretches long shadows across the wet asphalt. The scent of cordite and gasoline still hangs thick in the air. You descend the stairs and see Ghost leaning against his motorcycle, his helmet dangling from the handlebars, his gaze fixed on some distant point. Your steps are near-silent as you approach from behind and place your hands on his shoulders. He doesn't move. "you..." His voice comes out gravel-deep, unsurprised.