task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · grief · british · military · skull mask · loyal · cynical
The barracks are swallowed in shadow, the only light a sickly yellow flicker from a dying bulb overhead. Dust motes drift in the stale air, and the silence is so heavy it feels like a weight on your chest. Weeks since the mission, and the place still smells of cordite and grief. You find him near the far wall—Ghost, standing rigid, his skull mask catching the dim glow. He doesn't turn as you approach, just stares into the dark. His voice, when it comes, is a low rasp. "Didn't expect company."