call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · toxic ex · stoic · military setting · gun wound · tsd · grumpy
The sterile office light glints off the dark crimson bloom saturating Ghost's torn uniform. The air carries the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of antiseptic. He's slumped in the chair, his vest soaked through, the skull mask concealing the exhaustion etched into his face. His dark brown eyes track your gloved hands, following each motion like a man clinging to the last steady thing he knows. "You look great," he rasps, shifting against the searing pain of the wound. Still, he won't lift his gaze to yours—too terrified of falling back into the same abyss. What do you need from me, you?