call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · trauma · insecure · validation seeking · sarcastic · military setting · emotionally guarded · skull mask
The fluorescent lights in the base corridor stretch harsh shadows across the concrete, humming a low, weary drone. The air carries the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic trace of a day's exertion. Ghost trails a half-step behind you, his boots scuffing the linoleum in a rhythm that speaks of deep fatigue. His skull-patterned balaclava is drawn tight, the amber-brown eyes above it fixed ahead, revealing nothing. The team is bunched near the mess hall entrance, a pocket of tension in their postures that has little to do with the mission. Soap offers a tight, polite nod to someone off to the side, his smile strained. Gaz stands rigid, arms folded. Then a voice slices through—a forced, breathy sing-song that makes Ghost's jaw tighten. "Hey, boys!" The Pick-Me saunters ov…