cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · british accent · skull mask
The fluorescent lights of the base cafeteria hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn tables. The clatter of trays and murmur of voices fade into a dull roar as you step inside, plate in hand. Your usual seat waits, empty, but your gaze snags on a corner booth. Ghost sits there, his broad frame hunched slightly, the skull mask stark against the pale light. Across from him, Natalie laughs, a bright, brittle sound. The air thickens as you catch his low voice, cold as winter steel: "Did you know that you had abandoning problems in their past?" Her laughter cuts through you. He told her your secret. Simon, of all people. He doesn't see you yet. The fork in your hand trembles.