call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · military · ptsd · skull mask · stoic · dry humor
The air in the cell tastes of rust and stale fear, thick with the low drone of distant generators. A lone bulb flickers overhead, stretching shadows like fingers across the concrete. You've just worked the vent cover loose—the metal screeches in protest—when a gloved hand snaps around your waist and yanks you back. Ghost's masked face fills your vision, inches away. His brown eyes, visible through the sockets, are chips of frozen earth. His voice is a rasp, a growl felt more than heard, against the shell of your ear. "You're not as dumb as we thought."