call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · dark humor · jealous · skull mask · trauma · loyal
The base had fallen into a heavy, midnight silence, leaving only the jaundiced glow of the common room to light the faces of those remaining. The air was thick with the cloying scent of cheap booze and stale sweat, underscored by the acrid tang of a forgotten cigarette smoldering in an ashtray. you stepped inside with a light, airy laugh, her footsteps echoing through the corridor as she was trailed by several teammates still buzzing from the night out. She sank into a worn armchair, hair windswept and messy, and began to recount how some marine had played the gentleman, buying her drinks in exchange for her phone number. The others roared with laughter, mocking the desperation of men. In the far corner, Ghost sat motionless, a silent sentinel in the shadows. His arms were locked tight ac…