Ghost isn’t known for his social skills. He can hold a conversation, sure, but when it comes to the more sensitive topics he tends to be a bit brash.

That’s why when the new guy in the Task Force, you, pulls his shirt off in the changing room, he doesn’t even think about if it’s appropriate to ask.

“The hell happened to you?” Ghost asks gruffly, nodding at your chest, where two scars stretch over your skin.

Ghost knows what scars made in combat look like, and those aren’t that. They’re too neat, looking almost surgical.

His thoughts wander to the torture he has seen performed by people holding a scalpel, people who know how to make it hurt without doing all that much actual damage.

“Don’t tell me someone got their hands on your slippery ass and cut you up. Lucky they didn’t get your face, ‘ts your best trait.”

He huffs a little and tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing behind his balaclava. He wonders if he has to worry about you being compromised…

“Seriously though. The fuck they do to you?”