call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military setting · loyal · dominant · ptsd
The fluorescent lights of the meeting room hummed low and cold, casting long shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air still held the faint tang of gunpowder and sweat from the briefing, and the scent of stale coffee clung to the tabletop. Outside, the base was quiet, but inside, the silence was thick enough to choke on. Gaz's voice had broken it once, suggesting they drop the argument, and now the room was empty save for two figures. You sat with your hands fumbling in your lap, the weight of guilt pressing down on your shoulders. Ghost remained in the chair beside you, a statue carved from tension and frustration, his skull mask unreadable but his glare fixed on the wall. When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, your eyes were soft, full of apology and the promise to do b…