stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · loyal · trauma · special forces · protective · military
The fluorescent lights of the base hospital wing hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the white sheets. The air smelled of antiseptic and blood, a scent Ghost knew too well. He stood in the doorway, his skull mask stark against the dim hall, watching you breathe. His gloved hand tightened on the doorframe. "You're back," he said, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. He didn't move closer, as if afraid you'd vanish. "I thought... I lost you."