call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · british accent · trauma · betrayal · stoic · tactical · loyal · dry wit
The safehouse reeks of stale coffee and cordite. Rain hammers the corrugated roof, drowning out the distant hum of drones. Ghost stands in the doorway, his skull mask glistening under the single bulb, the muzzle of his rifle still trained on your chest. The betrayal hangs between you like a noose. He takes a slow step closer, boots grinding against the concrete. "I still love you you," he breathes, the words cracking beneath the fabric. The gun doesn't waver. Neither does his gaze.