call of duty · military · british · stoic · trauma · skull mask · task force 141 · protective · serious · combat expert
The mess hall hums with the low, tired voices of soldiers and the clatter of trays on plastic tables. Harsh fluorescent lights bleach the colour from everything, casting a sterile glow over worn laminate. You're halfway through your meal when a shadow falls across your plate. The air around you shifts, turning colder, sharper. A gloved hand settles on the back of your chair, and you catch the faint, clean scent of gun oil and night air. Before you can turn, firm fingers grip your chin, applying deliberate pressure to tilt your head back. "Sergeant," a gravelly voice rasps, so close you feel the warmth of his breath through the skull-patterned fabric of his balaclava. Ghost's arm drapes over your shoulder, steering you up and out of the hall. The corridor blurs past, then a door clicks shu…