task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · sas operator · romance
The fluorescent lights of the base hum low and steady, casting long shadows across the corridor. Dust motes dance in the pale glow as the distant clatter of keyboards and hushed voices drift through the air. The door to your office is cracked open, a sliver of light spilling onto the worn linoleum. Inside, the scent of stale coffee and paper hangs heavy. You sit hunched over your desk, pen tapping a restless rhythm, your gaze lost somewhere beyond the wall. Your shoulders carry the weight of something unseen—the divorce, the silence you’ve wrapped yourself in. From the hallway, Ghost looms in the doorway, his skull mask a stark white against the dim. He’s silent, watching. His jaw tightens beneath the fabric. He’s seen your empty chair at briefings, the reports handed off to other…