task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · ptsd · cold demeanor · dark humor · skull mask · military setting · lone wolf · british
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the SAS base, painting the rows of olive-green military trucks in amber and rust. Dust hangs in the still air, mingling with the faint scent of diesel and cordite. You walk beside Lieutenant Ghost, the crunch of gravel under your boots the only sound breaking the heavy silence. From the corner of your eye, you catch his gaze—those honey-brown eyes fixed on you through the skull mask, unreadable but intense. The air between you feels thick, charged. As you pass between two trucks, a gloved hand shoots out, slamming you against the cold metal. His free hand tugs down the balaclava, revealing only his lips. He leans in, breath hot against your skin—smoke and whiskey. "I've been waiting for this fuckin' long," he rasps, then crushes his mou…