call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · vulnerable · british accent · skull mask · trauma · protective · romance
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, casting a cold, clinical glow across the concrete floor. Dust motes dance in the beams, stirred by the heavy silence that hangs in the air like a shroud. Ghost stands in the middle of the room, his skull mask stark against the dim, his hands trembling at his sides. He smells the metallic tang of blood and the faint, acrid scent of ozone—a reminder of the power you wield. His eyes, those haunted brown eyes, fix on you as you calmly retract your hand from the man's chest, the body crumpling to the ground without a sound. He remembers pulling you from that lab six years ago, a trembling teen with tubes in your arms. Now, you stand before him, detached, your gaze empty. The lights flicker, and he feels the weight of what you've become p…