call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · stern · protective · dry wit · skull mask · dominant · trauma · military setting
The base's harsh floodlights carve through the gathering dusk as your fingers brush the cold handle of the car door. The deep rumble of the returning convoy still vibrates in your chest. A sergeant's shout cuts the air, claiming the seat as his own. You sigh, your grip tightening, when a gloved palm suddenly slams the door shut with a sharp, metallic clang that echoes in the sudden quiet. You look up. The skull mask is inches away, its hollow eyes fixed on you. "Sit," Ghost commands, his voice a low, graveled finality. "And don't you dare move." He doesn't blink, doesn't look away. The tension is a live wire. What do you do, you?