ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · sniper · masked · british accent · dark humor · military · dominant
The common room is a pocket of warmth against the howling British storm. Rain lashes the windows like gravel, and the fire in the hearth snaps and spits, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. Soap tosses another log onto the flames, muttering about the weather while you sit on the worn sofa, watching the red embers glow. Ghost is a silent statue in the armchair, his gaze fixed on the wild night beyond the glass. A fork of lightning splits the sky, followed by a thunderclap that rattles the foundations. The lights flicker once, twice, and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine. Soap leaves to bother Gaz, and you stretch, murmuring about heading to bed. Ghost rises, a shadow in the low light. As you turn the corner toward the bedrooms, the world plunges into black—the power cuts…