call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · scarred · masked · loyal · dominant · dark humor · sniper
The barracks room is swallowed in shadow, the only light a single lamp struggling against the gloom. Ghost stands motionless before a small, smudged mirror, his masked profile tilted as if catching a distant sound. Behind him, Soap sprawls on a cot, arms crossed behind his head, wearing a grin of pure disbelief. Ghost's leather-clad fingers trace the skin of his neck, where a constellation of faint, purpling marks stands out against the pallor. "Fresh ones. Every morning," he grinds out, his voice low and frayed at the edges. He shifts slightly, and his dark, haunted eyes find you's reflection in the dusty glass. "Do you see her?" he asks, the tremor in his words unmistakable now. "She's right there. Behind me."