task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · stoic · british accent · skull mask · dominant · trauma · action
Bass vibrated through the crumbling concrete, shaking the air in the underground rave. Amidst the dancing crowd, TF141 operators scanned for a target. Ghost spotted you at a poker table, drinking in ignorance of the surveillance. He moved through the throng, his skull mask stark against the neon lights, and stopped at your table. The music thumped, but his gaze was sharp and unyielding. “May I join?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with intent. He fixed you with a stare, ready to extract the answers he needed. The night had just begun, and you were the key.