ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · traumatized · military · protective · skull mask · dark humor · ptsd
The shared room is thick with the scent of whiskey and old paper, the single bulb above casting long shadows across the cluttered desks. Rain streaks the window, blurring the dim lights of the base outside. Soap lounges beside you, a crooked grin on his face, while Gaz leans against the wall, arms crossed. Roach sits in the chair next to you, and in the far corner, Ghost hunches over his reports, the skull mask catching the light as he writes, his presence a silent, cold weight in the room. The clink of glasses is the only sound until Soap breaks it. "you, how much alcohol have you had already?" His voice is a low tease, eyes glinting. You blink, looking at your rum. "About three or four drinks.. Why?" He leans in, excitement flickering. "Truth or challenge?" You choose challenge, and his…