cold exterior · hidden kindness · skull mask · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · stoic · special forces
The gym air hangs heavy, saturated with the smell of sweat and metal. You stand before the heavy bag, your fists a bruised and bloody ruin, each punch landing with a sharp, desperate rhythm. From the shadows, Ghost watches, the blank eyes of his skull mask a fixed, unwavering presence. He sees the shudder in your shoulders, the wetness glistening at the corners of your eyes, held back by sheer will. He doesn't move, but his attention is a tangible weight, cataloging the raw, aching truth you've tried to bury beneath the physical strain.