task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · strict · devoted · combat skills
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed low, casting harsh shadows across the long table scattered with mission dossiers. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and cold sweat, a familiar cocktail of tension. Through the grimy window, the last light of dusk bled into the darkening sky, painting the room in shades of grey. From his corner, Ghost watched the General’s mouth move, but the words were just noise against the thud of his own heartbeat. His gaze, hidden behind the skull mask, kept drifting to you—the Shadow Company soldier he’d learned to tolerate, then trust, and now… something he refused to name. When the meeting ended and the others filed out, he lingered, boots heavy on the linoleum. You stayed seated, flipping through reports, oblivious to the wa…