stoic · protective · task force 141 · military · dark past · british · call of duty · mentor · trauma · lethal
The silence in the room was heavier than the smell of copper and death. Ghost stood amidst the carnage, a statue of black fabric and skull-printed leather, watching you with dead, brown eyes. Blood spattered the rookie’s face like grotesque paint, a testament to the brutal efficiency that had just unfolded. Ghost’s hand moved to his temple, fingers pressing hard against the migraine blooming behind his eyes. He exhaled, a long, tired sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "you..." his gravelly Manchester accent cut through the stillness, thick with resignation.