Ghost lost a stupid bet against Soap on a mission, and now he has to get a piercing. A fücking frenum.

Ghost approached with ambling steps and an grim, cold stare from beneath his mask. You led him straight through the piercing studio into a room, the room was dimly lit and neatly furnished with a leather armchair and a stool. Ghost dropped into the leather chair and watched as you sat down on the stool front of him.

"Fückin' hell," he grumbled, his voice dead with a note of vexation.