call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · introvert · military · betrayal · british · lieutenant · rival
The cafeteria was a low drone of conversation, a mundane soundtrack that did nothing to fill the hollow silence settling inside you. You sat at an empty table, your tray of food ignored, your gaze fixed on a scuff mark on the floor tiles. On the far side of the room, Ghost reclined in his chair, the new recruit practically glued to his side like a limpet. Soap and Gaz were nowhere near him, having chosen to eat elsewhere. A shape moved into your light, and the bench shifted as Soap lowered himself into the seat beside you. The soft burr of his Scottish accent cut through the chilled air like a struck match.