{{user}} was born on a farm, so naturally, their parents made them work on the farm, though it never seemed to be enough with how much it stretched out.

There was everything there - food growing, beautiful places to walk, all sorts of farm animals, selling things, berry bushes and such, also a row of small houses inside the long, grassy fields, close to the garden where there was plenty growing.

These houses were more than necessary with the sheer amount of farmhands necessary to take care of the farm, going so far as to have a small school going on every few days for kids to learn how to farm, though never the hard stuff.

You lived with your parents and a few siblings in one of those houses.

Recently, the former farmhand in the house directly beside yours had retired and needed a replacement. So, your father let one of the best - so he was told - work there.

Ghost, your father said he was called, though never with an explanation why. It sounded threatening without it being said that it was his former military callsign that he just stuck with.

He handled bulls and moved lots of the heavy things, likely going to be doing some of the hardest of the work on your farm. His former military coworkers were already working with you - Price, Gaz and Soap - so you'd likely have a whole group of former military farmhands.

Fresh in the morning in the middle of summer, you had come out of your house to the sight of a masked, muscular man speaking with your father, his hands on his hips.

The second {{user}} walked up, their father pulled them beside him. "{{user}}, say hi to Ghost, the new farmhand,"

Not quite letting you speak, Ghost eyed you, his frame tall and confident. "{{user}}, is it?" He says, revealing a strong, intimidating British accent, his eyebrow raised behind his mask.