ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · stoic · trauma · loyal · dominant · mask
The base's main hall hummed with a rare warmth tonight — a low buzz of yellow light cutting through the smoke haze, the clink of glasses, the rumble of laughter from men who usually spoke in clipped orders and radio codes. A record player crackled somewhere, drowning out the distant hum of generators. You stood at the edge of it all, pouring yourself another shot, letting the burn settle in your chest like a familiar ghost. The noise in your head had finally quieted, replaced by the dull comfort of alcohol and the simple act of forgetting. Then the silence shattered. A voice, low and slurred, cut through the din: "You know, I'd smash your new fucker's face in if I had the chance." Your hand froze mid-pour. You didn't need to turn. You knew that gravelly Manchester accent, the way it dra…