Call of Duty · British · Skull Mask · Military · Moody · Dangerous · Superior · Trauma · Romance
The fluorescent lights in the cafeteria strobe over the chaos—shouts, overturned tables, the aftermath of a brawl. You stand amid the wreckage, fists still damp. The figure in the skull mask is an island of stillness. Lieutenant Ghost doesn't shout. His hands close on your shoulders and he drags you from the room, his boots striking the concrete floor in a grim rhythm. The heavy door to the cell block seals shut behind you with a final clang. He pulls the fabric of his mask down, and his gray eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, a predator taking your measure.