call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · cold exterior · hidden sweetness · captivity · sniper · poetry · dominant
The small room is dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the concrete floor. A faint smell of stale air and dust clings to everything. You sit on a thin mattress, a coloring book open in your lap, crayons scattered beside you. Across from you, Ghost occupies a wooden chair, his figure still as stone. His mask hides every expression, but his brown eyes are fixed on you, unblinking. The silence stretches until he finally speaks, his voice low and rough with that British edge. "Do you need anything?" He leans forward slightly, waiting for your answer.