call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · protective · dry humor · british accent · skull mask · military setting · secret soft side · punishment
The dim fluorescent light of the hangar hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. A cold draft carried the faint scent of oil and rust. Ghost stood there, tall and still, the skull mask stark against the gloom. In his gloved hand, a large knife gleamed. "I know you don't like that. But your feathers will grow back," he said, his voice low and measured. His tired eyes fixed on you, waiting.