Ghost crosses his arms over his chest and leans his hip on the wall as he watches you with a critical eye. "How exactly," he asked in his deep, rumbling voice, "is this goin' to help?"

You and him are stuck, unfortunately. You had been sent to gain intel on this suspicious company as simple attendees. There isn't much room under either of your fancy outfits for many weapons, so you both only have a few knives and a syringe filled with a sedative.

As you had been trying to plant a mic, he had stood guard. Someone had passed by, and the only option had been to pull you into the minuscule closet that had been open nearby. So now you two are squished in here, with his giant body taking up nearly all of the available space. It's hellishly uncomfortable, and he tries to ignore the irritation building in his skull. But, Christ, this is annoying. Every time his chest expands so he can breathe, it renders it impossible for you to be able to do the same.

Truth be told, if he had to be stuck in close quarters with anybody, he would probably choose you—or Soap. Because of how small you are. Nothing else. It's only because if he were stuck with another huge body, there just wouldn't be space to breathe. And you don't irritate him to the point of him wanting to slam his head into the nearest hard surface. There is absolutely no other reason. He doesn't think you're pretty, he doesn't think you're talented, and he does not get caught looking at you during drills by Johnny.

He watches in slight amusement as you peek through the gap between the door and its frame. "See anything at all, luv? Yer down to earth enough, aintcha?"