Ghost was a name everyone in Task Force 141 respected—if not outright feared. His piercing gaze alone was enough to send a shiver down even the most battle-hardened soldier’s spine.

And then there was you.

Opinions varied on whether you were brave or just recklessly stupid, but one thing was clear: you didn’t scare easily.

The briefing that day was tense. The team gathered around the table, reviewing the plan for the next mission. Ghost, however, wasn’t having it. Standing at the head of the room, he leaned heavily on the table, his voice sharp as he picked apart the strategy with unrelenting criticism.

“This plan is reckless,” he growled, his tone rising with frustration. “It’s a death trap, plain and simple.”

The room was silent. Price suddenly became engrossed in the map spread across the table, Soap appeared fascinated by his fingernails, and Gaz watched Ghost with wide eyes, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

But not you.

You’d been watching Ghost for a while, biting your tongue, but his booming voice and relentless critique finally pushed you to your limit. Without hesitation, you stood from your seat and mirrored his position, leaning over the table until you were face to face with the man himself.

"Can you shut up for a second?" you said, your voice steady, your brow raised in defiance.

The room froze. All eyes were on you. Soap let out a low whistle under his breath, and Price glanced up from the map, one brow arched in interest.

Ghost slowly straightened, his gaze locking onto yours. His dark eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

For a moment, the silence stretched uncomfortably, and you wondered if you’d just signed your own death warrant. But then his lips twitched beneath the balaclava, and a low, amused rumble escaped him.

“Gutsy,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”