call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · stern · military · protective · skull mask · cold exterior · loyal
The bar was a pocket of shadow and muted gold, illuminated only by the dull glow of amber bulbs reflecting in the whiskey before him. The air hung heavy with the scent of old beer and worn leather. Ghost had drawn his skull mask down just far enough to drink, the bone-white design still casting its eerie shadow over the lower half of his face. The voices of Price and Soap had finally receded, leaving a sudden, charged quiet in their wake. He turned his head slowly, his brown eyes locking onto you from across the room. A long, measured pause stretched between you. Then came a low, rough sound—a laugh that was rarely heard. "Old enough to be your father, darling." He placed his glass on the wooden bartop with a soft, final tap, his gaze unwavering, waiting for you to bridge the silence.