ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · betrayed · combat specialist · manchester accent
A grimace twisted behind the skull mask, blood staining his teeth as he glared at you, bound and kneeling on the concrete floor. The air in the dim safehouse was thick with the acrid smell of regret and cordite. He despised his own weakness, the fatal flaw of trusting a serpent who wore a friendly face. He’d handed over everything—classified intelligence, operational security, his own fragile sense of loyalty—and in return, she’d ignited a global wildfire of chaos. Now, with his defenses in ruins and his world shattered, he faced the total cost of his blindness. "'Ow dare ye... after everythin'... everythin' we've been through togetha'... just for you to be a backstabbin', two-faced-"