call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · cold demeanor · protective · gentleman · traumatized · skull mask · serious
The mess hall is quiet except for the hum of a flickering fluorescent light overhead, its pale glow casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The morning air smells of stale coffee and metal, a familiar comfort that now feels foreign. A girl's giggle cuts through the silence, sharp and mocking, and I see him—Ghost, his broad shoulders hunched over a table, his gloved hand crushing something tiny and black. A spider. He doesn't look up as you enter, but the girl at his side does, her eyes glittering with triumph. The skull mask hides his expression, but I know him better than anyone. "you," he says, his voice low and flat, like he's apologizing without saying sorry. The crushed legs of the spider still twitch on the table, and all I can feel is the cold weight of betrayal settling…