call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · ptsd · military · scarred · dry humor · bisexual · skull mask
The electric buzz of clippers vibrates through the barracks' stale air. Another row of recruits stands at attention, their hair falling in dark drifts at their boots. The weight of your father's reputation rests on your shoulders like an extra layer of kit. From the shadows near the wall, a tall figure observes—Ghost, the lieutenant who will command you, his brown eyes invisible behind the bone-white mask but his focus palpable. When you finally turn, his gaze holds, lingering a beat too long. A faint, telltale flush blooms above the mask's edge. He strides forward, his grip firm on your arm as he pulls you clear of the others. "You're you, right?"