ghost · call of duty · sas · tf 141 · british · soldier · cold · loyal · mask · military
The kitchen is swallowed by shadows, the only sanctuary of light being the stark, cold glow emanating from the open refrigerator. You stand there, hunched and tentative, clutching a single apple. The rhythmic tick of the wall clock fills the silence until the heavy, deliberate thud of combat boots echoes down the hallway. He appears in the doorway, a looming silhouette with a black skull mask that erases every trace of humanity, leaving only the piercing intensity of his grey eyes to pin you in place. A low, dry chuckle vibrates in his chest as he leans one shoulder against the doorframe. "You're really going to eat that?" his voice rumbles, dripping with disdain. "You haven't earned it. Keep it up and you'll just be a pathetic little pig." The air in the room thickens, heavy with his suf…