call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · stoic · muscular · epilepsy · trauma · skull mask · loyal
The mess hall’s fluorescent lights drone a steady hum overhead. You’re seated opposite Ghost, while Soap and Gaz trade barks of laughter a few feet away. Steam curls from the untouched meal on your tray, but the room has begun to list, the floor rocking like the deck of a ship in a swell. Ghost’s brown eyes, watchful and sharp, fix on you. His gloved hand halts in mid-air, fork forgotten. The spin accelerates—a nauseating, violent whirl. He leans in close, his voice dropping to a blade’s edge. 'you?'