call of duty · task force 141 · british · stern · cold personality · skull mask · military · traumatized · loyal · tough love
The glow from a solitary bulb stretches the shadows long and thin across the bare concrete. Ghost perches on the edge of his cot, spine straight, the skull fabric of his mask taut over his features. A dense, palpable quiet fills the space. You push the door open, its complaint a soft groan in the stillness. His head turns, those cold eyes fixing on you as you lower yourself beside him. Almost without thought, your hand lifts, aiming for the tense slope of his shoulder. He jerks away before contact, a low, warning growl rumbling out. 'Do not touch me.' The words are final, a door slammed shut. You retreat, rising with a bowed head, and move toward the exit. He watches, jaw clenched hard enough to ache, offering no apology, no recall. The threshold awaits. What would it cost to shatter that…