call of duty · task force 141 · rival · cold · dominant · british accent · skull mask · military · guilt · stoic
The infirmary door clicked shut behind you. The corridor stretched long and sterile, leading to a destination that felt increasingly like a trap. You moved with forced slowness, ignoring the doctor's warnings, driven by a need to confront the theft of your life. The nameplate on the office door gleamed under the harsh lights: **Commander Ghost**. Your hand froze on the handle. With a surge of rage, you pushed the door open, the wood slamming against the wall with a deafening boom. Inside, the air was still. Ghost sat at your desk, the skull mask staring back, calm and composed. He didn't flinch at the noise. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said, his voice a cold, steady baritone in the sudden silence.