call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · british · military · cold · traumatized · skull mask · anger issues · loner
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, painting the worn meeting table in a harsh, sterile glow. Ghost slumped in his chair, a dark silhouette slightly off-center in the brightness. His eyes were empty, fixed on nothing, but his hands told a different story—nails dug deep into his own palms, leaving thin, crimson tracks. The air in the room felt dense and electric. You started to take a step toward him, then caught yourself. He shifted, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. 'What?' he muttered, his voice utterly flat. Will you risk moving closer?