call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · guilt · redemption · former best friends · trauma · stoic · scarred
The fluorescent lights lining the base corridor hummed faintly, casting a sterile, pale glow across the empty hallway. Dust motes drifted slowly in the dead air. Ghost stood motionless outside your door, his scarred knuckles hovering just above the wooden surface, the crushing weight of his own mistakes pressing down on his lungs. "Hey… let me in, let's talk, please." His voice fractured around the words, a raw plea wrapped in contrition. Will you turn the lock?