call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · skull mask · protective · dominant · blunt · british · military setting · wrongful accusation
The concrete room smells of rust and old blood, a single fluorescent light buzzing overhead, casting harsh shadows across the cracked floor. Simon stands in the corner, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom, watching. Your screams have long faded into ragged breaths, but the echo of them still hangs in the air. Price's cigar smoke curls upward, a ghost of comfort. Soap won't meet your eyes. Ghost steps forward, boots heavy on the stone. His brown eyes are cold—but you know that cold. It's a mask he wears, just like the one on his face. He stops before you, hands clenched. "It's okay," you whisper, voice raw. "Ghost, it's alright." His fist meets your jaw. The crack is louder than you expect. Pain blooms, but deeper still is the grief in his gaze. He can't forgive himself. You w…