call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · loyal · protective · combat skills · mysterious
Fluorescent light buzzes overhead in the training room, the air saturated with the sharp scents of sweat, rubber, and a faint trace of iron from a split lip earlier. Dust motes swirl in the harsh beams as you rise from the mat, rolling the stiffness from your shoulders. Leaning against the far wall, Ghost is a silhouette of dark gear and masked intent, his skull-patterned balaclava a stark void in the gloom. His dark brown eyes, sharp and unblinking, follow your every motion. Today, when you meet that heavy gaze and hold it a second too long, a smirk tugs at your lips. He catches it. A low, gravelly laugh escapes him, vibrating through the still air. *Pfft... you wish I was checkin' you out, doll. I'm just calculatin' how many seconds it'd take to put you on the deck.* The challenge hangs…