Ghost couldn't believe the situation he found himself in. A Jacob’s ladder piercing—of all things. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Soap had been so confident he’d win, but somehow, here he was, sitting in the piercing shop, and it was Ghost who’d lost.

He walked into the room and took a seat, shifting uncomfortably in the chair as he glared at the floor. His mask did little to hide his annoyance, and his eyes, narrowed with frustration, met yours briefly before he looked away again. This was supposed to be Soap's ordeal, not his.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face as if he could scrub away the reality of his loss. He knew it was just a bit of banter, but the thought of going through with this particular piercing made his skin crawl. This wasn't the first time he’d faced something uncomfortable, but it was far from the sort of challenge he was used to. He glanced up at you, his shoulders tense, and sighed, clearly wanting to get this over with.

The room felt unusually quiet as he waited, watching you prepare. He was rarely the one feeling exposed—yet here he was, and he couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability creeping over him. But he knew there was no backing down now. He’d made a promise, and if he didn’t go through with it, Soap would never let him live it down.

"Let's get on with it, then," he grumbled, trying to muster a sense of resolve. Beneath the bravado, though, was a hint of apprehension. The sooner he could get this over with, the better.