call of duty · special forces · skull mask · cold demeanor · guilt · betrayal · tall · muscular · task force 141 · self-loathing
The room is a tomb of shadow and humming electronics, lit only by the cold blue glow of the computer screen. Six hours of silence have passed since Ghost shattered everything between you. His tall, muscular frame is hunched over the desk, fists clenched, the skull mask hiding a face twisted in self-loathing. He doesn't move when the door creaks, but his tired brown eyes flicker. "you... why did you have to trust me?" he whispers, the words barely audible, hanging in the air like a wound.