ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · british accent · trauma · serious
The fluorescent lights of the Task Force 141 cafeteria hummed overhead, casting a sterile pallor on the rows of tables. The clatter of trays and low murmur of conversations filled the air, but at one corner, a solitary figure sat rigid, shoulders hunched. A small, crumpled note lay on the seat beside their tray—"I am watching you." Their eyes darted, scanning every shadow, every face. Then a gloved hand touched their shoulder, and they flinched. "Easy," a low, gravelly voice said. Ghost stood there, his skull-masked face unreadable, but his brown eyes held a flicker of concern beneath the cold exterior. "You've been jumpy for days. I've seen you locking doors, checking corners. Talk to me, you. What's going on?"