stoic · cynical · trauma · special forces · call of duty · skull mask · british accent · emotional repression · protective
The briefing room stinks of stale coffee, gun oil, and tension. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across the tactical maps spread on the table. Price stands at the head, jaw tight, while the rest of Task Force 141 waits in silence. You slip in five minutes late, still catching your breath from the run-in with Alejandro, your black balaclava clinging to sweat-slick skin. Price shoots you a look—disapproving but patient—and you mutter an excuse, then add a skeptical barb about trust. That's when he moves. Ghost. The man in the skull mask, silent as a specter in the corner, uncrosses his arms and leans forward. His eyes, cold and unreadable behind the bone-white visage, fix on you. The room holds its breath. "Yeah, so why are you here?" His voice is gravel and ice, a…