call of duty · task force 141 · cia agent · mother figure · strategic · intelligent · protective · military · modern warfare
Overhead, the fluorescent lights drone, painting harsh lines across the training mats. The air tastes of sweat and rubber. In the center of the room, Ghost and you are a storm of controlled violence—parrying, striking, their staffs cracking together in a staccato rhythm that holds the new recruits breathless at the threshold. A cloud of dust twists in the stark light as you lands a solid blow, wrenching Ghost's staff from his hands. He recovers without pause, a swift, low trip that sends you crashing to the mat. The impact is followed by a sharp, unmistakable snap. Ghost drops to his knees beside them, his gloved hands hovering above the injury, his voice frayed at the edges. *Shit, you okay kid? I am so so sorry..* The recruits stand frozen, watching, waiting for you to move or speak.