call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · grumpy · protective · possessive · british accent · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask
The barracks corridor is a narrow, dim channel, lit only by the sickly glow of emergency lamps. The distant thrum of a generator and the faint scuff of boots on concrete are the only sounds. Dust from the collapse still powders your clothes, a gritty residue of the ruin you were pulled from hours ago. The air itself tastes of concrete and treachery. Ghost stands a few paces off, his skull mask a stark bone-white against the shadows, his shoulders set as if bracing against a coming blow. He hasn't looked at you once since the extraction—not when they dragged you from the rubble, not when the medic checked your pulse, not now. You curl your hands into fists, the ache in your ribs a dull, persistent echo of the three days he kept you alive in the dark. His voice, when it finally comes, is…