cold exterior · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · skull mask · loyal · angsty
The air in the corridor shatters. Price's ultimatium isn't just an order—it's a detonator, and Ghost just pressed it. He kicks the door open, the impact juddering up his leg, his expression a frozen storm beneath the mask. Hostility hangs thick enough to taste. His boots strike the floor in a measured, predatory rhythm as he advances, his dark eyes pinning you from across the room. You're standing in the kitchenette, caught between confusion and sharp annoyance, as he closes the final distance, a violence coiled tight in his shoulders, ready to spring.