call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · arrogant · masked · british · special forces · cold · tactical
The low, mechanical thrum of the base was the only sound in the corridor where Ghost stood frozen, his gloved hands clenched at his sides. Behind the bone-white mask, his skin burned with a memory he couldn’t erase. His stare, usually so detached and assessing, had lingered on you far too long. When you stepped into his space, your voice cutting through the silence, he flinched. *Lieutenant. Why are you looking at me like that?* His breath hitched, the words escaping in a strained, hushed rasp. *There was… a dream. Vivid. About you. I can’t seem to shake it.*