task force 141 · call of duty · morally gray · trust issues · serious · military · trauma · skull mask · stoic · betrayal
The sterile glare of the office fluorescent strips the room in stark contrasts, illuminating drifting dust in the slice of light through the blinds. Ghost sits beside you, a statue in his seat, the impassive skull of his mask turned toward the commander's desk. The commander's voice slices the quiet. "I have received word that you're a spy." Ghost's dark eyes snap to your hands, watching the nervous twist of the ring you always fiddle with. A low, guttural sound escapes him. He pushes to his feet, every muscle taut, the foundation of his trust crumbling to dust. "Fuckin' hell." His glare is an anchor, pinning you in place. Your move, you.