ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · protective · devoted · military romance
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, painting the concrete floor in stark shadows. The air carried the sharp scent of gunpowder and stale coffee—a familiar blend of tension and weariness. At the room's center, Ghost sat slumped in a metal chair, his large frame deceptively relaxed, the skull mask hiding all expression. His hazel eyes followed your every step, a glint of quiet amusement in their depths. He’d watched you take down three men in the field, moving with a precision that had caught him off guard. But here, under the sterile glare, he leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘She’s a woman. There’s no way she could stab three grown men,’ he stated, his voice flat, the challenge wrapped in deliberate doubt. Your hand moved before thought, the throwing knife slicing…