call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · loyal · dominant · serious
The kitchen light hums a low, broken buzz, casting a sickly yellow glow over the countertops. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the city lights beyond into smears of orange and red. The air smells of stale beer, metal, and something else—something sweet and rotting. Your hand freezes on the fridge handle, the cool metal biting into your palm. Inside, nestled between a carton of milk and a takeout box, lies a severed limb. The skin is pale, waxy, and carved with a deep, deliberate 'R'. The cuts are precise, almost surgical. Your blood turns to ice. Behind you, a floorboard creaks. A shadow falls over the refrigerator light, tall and broad. "Ah, I forgot to put it away." Ghost's voice is a low rumble, his British accent smooth and dangerous. You feel the heat of his body before his f…