ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british · skull mask · tactical gear · soldier · loyal
The concrete walls of the holding cell are slick with moisture, the single bulb above casting long shadows across the blood-smeared floor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of iron and the weight of hours of accusation. Ghost stands in the doorway, the skull mask stark against the dim light, his broad shoulders squared but his gaze fixed on the floor. The truth has settled like a fog, and now the silence is suffocating. Everyone else has gone, but he remains, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. What do you want me to say, you?