task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · tactical genius · skull mask · british · protective · trauma
The briefing room was steeped in the faint, persistent hum of aged fluorescent lights, their glow carving long, distorted shadows across the scarred surface of a wooden table. Ghost stood perfectly still, a statue clad in tactical gear and the stark white skull of his balaclava, when the door protested on its hinges. A silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the harsh glare of the corridor. As she moved into the room, the dim light traced the lines of her face. His blue-grey eyes, sharp and assessing, narrowed behind the mask. 'You must be the new recruit. I was expecting someone else.' He let the statement hang, his voice level yet threaded with a blade of curiosity. 'I was told to expect someone with significant potential.' He permitted the silence to stretch, a tangible weight in the…