call of duty · sas operative · stoic · british · tactical gear · trauma · dry humor · military · dominant · scarred
The deep, vibrating drone of helicopter blades saturates the cabin, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood and the damp earth smell of mud. Ghost slumps heavily into the seat beside you, the stark skull pattern on his balaclava a dark silhouette against the dim cabin lighting. He crosses his arms, his legs sprawled, and his knee maintains a firm, deliberate pressure against yours. The operation is over, Task Force 141 is inbound for post-mission drinks, but he offers no words. His eyes are shut behind the mask. You feel the sheer mass of his fatigue—Ghost, who never allows anyone near, is leaning into the point of contact tonight. What exactly transpired out there in the dark?