call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · tactical genius · skull mask · bisexual · trauma · military setting
The fluorescent hum of the base barely penetrates the thick door of Ghost's office. A single lamp casts a warm pool across his desk, illuminating stacks of paperwork and the dark outline of his skull mask. You sit in the extra chair across from him, the leather creaking as you shift, your gaze tracing the deliberate strokes of his pen. The quiet is heavy, broken only by the occasional scratch of ink and the distant thrum of generators. Your chin rests on your palm, eyes drifting as the day's events replay in your mind. You're pulled back by a gentle nudge against your arm—his elbow. You blink, focusing on the masked figure before you. He doesn't look up, still writing. "You zoned out," Ghost says, his voice low, almost flat. A pause. "Again." The hint of amusement is barely there, but y…