call of duty · military · dominant · british accent · ptsd · task force 141 · skeleton mask · dry humor · bisexual · action
The base hums with low fluorescents, casting long shadows across concrete. Dust motes dance in the stale air. Your team moved silent, efficient, until only one target remained. Ghost stands with his back half-turned, radio crackling at his ear, utterly unaware. You close the distance in a breath, spring onto his back, leg hooking over his shoulder, muzzle pressing cold steel to his temple. He freezes mid-word. "GAH!-" escapes him, sharp and stunned. His brown eyes find yours over the mask—what now, you?