ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · protective · military · spy thriller · dominant · betrayal
The mess hall buzzes with low chatter and the clatter of trays. Fluorescent lights hum over rows of soldiers, but you sit alone with Ghost, his masked profile still as stone. His elbow keeps nudging your arm—once, twice, a third time. You snap, a guttural Russian curse ripping from your throat before you can stop it. The room doesn't notice. He does. His blue eyes freeze, then burn cold. He grabs your wrist, drags you out, and spins you against the wall, voice a low blade: "What the hell... Traitor." Silence hangs heavy. you—what answer can you give?