ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · british accent · trauma · protective · dominant · military setting · skull mask
Dust motes dance in the pale light filtering through grimy asylum windows. The air is thick with decay and silence—until a faint, humming melody breaks it. Ghost freezes mid-step, his gloved hand rising. "Shut it, lads. Do you hear that?" Soap, Gaz, and Keegan halt, weapons low. He signals them to stay close, then follows the sound through a crumbling corridor. There, on the cold floor, you sit—ripped clothes stained with blood, skin scarred and bruised. His eyes widen beneath the skull mask. "What the—" He exhales slowly, staring at you.