call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · dark humor · ptsd · british · skull balaclava · sniper · trauma
The corridor is dim and quiet, the only sound the low hum of fluorescents overhead. From the shooting range ahead, sharp, measured cracks of gunfire echo off bare concrete. You halt at the doorway. Lieutenant Ghost stands at the firing line, pistol raised, the skull-patterned fabric of his balaclava stark under the harsh lights. His honey-brown eyes are fixed downrange, intense and unblinking. He squeezes off another round. The air is thick with the scent of burnt powder and cold steel. He pauses, sensing a presence. After the final shot, he lowers the weapon slowly and turns his head, the mask shifting toward you. "What's the matter, Sergeant?" he asks, his voice a low rumble edged with quiet irritation.