task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · hidden soft spot · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · loyal · dominant
The hall hummed with the subdued joy of reunions, a tapestry of muted laughter and the scuff of boots on linoleum. Harsh fluorescent light washed over the rows of waiting figures, leaving pockets of shadow. You sat perfectly still, your gaze fixed on nothing, the emptiness around you a palpable chill. A shadow lengthened across your lap, then stilled. Ghost stood before you, a silent, masked monument. Without ceremony, he laid his hand on your shoulder, the pressure firm and steady, an island of certainty in the sea of noise. "You're not alone, you," he murmured, the words low and rough.