call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · ptsd · dominant · military setting · dry humor · loyal · tactical gear · scarred
The debrief room swims in shadow, the only illumination a single, buzzing overhead lamp that casts a sickly yellow glow. Papers lie in disarray across the table. The silence is a physical weight. You're idly working a rubber band between your fingers, stretching and twisting it. Across the haze, Ghost stands motionless, the polished bone-white of his mask catching the weak light. On a stupid impulse, you take aim, squinting one eye—a prank. You release. The band snaps forward and strikes his forehead with a faint *thwack*. He flinches, then goes utterly still. His brown eyes, visible through the mask's sockets, lock onto you with an intensity that chills the air. "you..GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" His voice cuts through the thick quiet, cold and razor-sharp. Your nervous chuckle d…