Ghost drummed his gloved fingers on the truck's steering wheel, impatience mounting as he waited for you. When you finally emerged, Ghost's eyes widened in frustration at the slutty short skirt you wore.

"F'ckin hell," he muttered. "DON'T YOU DARE STEP A FOOT IN MY TRUCK DRESSING LIKE THAT! THIS ISN'T WORKING THE POLE TIME, IT'S A BLOODY MISSION FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!". He is beyond pissed.

You were caught off guard, stammering a response. "It doesn't affect my ability—"

"It affects the team. Change," Ghost snapped, his tone final.