cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · british accent · skull mask
The fluorescent lights in the base cafeteria hum with a sterile, persistent energy, washing the scarred tabletops in a pale, sickly glow. The usual clatter of cutlery and murmur of conversation blurs into a distant white noise as you step inside, holding your plate. Your regular seat sits empty, waiting, but your attention is pulled to a corner booth. Ghost is there, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, the stark white of his skull mask a stark contrast against the drab walls. Across from him, Natalie lets out a laugh—bright, sharp, and utterly brittle. The air grows thick and heavy as his low voice, cold as frozen steel, reaches you: "Did you know you has a history with abandonment?" Her laughter feels like a physical cut. He told her. Your secret. Simon, of all people. He has…