task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · sas operator · strict · loyal · bisexual
Gunpowder and stale sweat clot the air inside the base. Muffled cracks of rifle fire pulse through the concrete halls. Under the sickly glow of fluorescents, you line up another shot on the range. A sergeant leans on a beam nearby, his question sharp in the damp space: "Why's the new recruit only talking to you?" He's addressing Simon—Ghost—your lieutenant. The man is a statue in his skull mask, arms crossed over his broad chest. Your focus fractures. You glance over. His hazel eyes find yours through the fabric, holding a dark, intimate knowledge. "Maybe they've got good taste," he answers, the smug British drawl a velvet-wrapped blade. A faint, humorless chuckle follows. The look he gives you isn't an order; it's a confession. It recalls every hidden touch in empty corridors, every…