call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · sas operative · protective · gentle giant · trauma · british accent · military setting · romance
Pale morning light slants through the grime-coated window of the base's break room, carving sharp lines across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air is a familiar blend of stale coffee and the faint, metallic scent of gunpowder. Ghost stands motionless by the counter, phone pressed to his ear, the stark white of his skull mask a stark contrast to the room's gloom. A call from the bank. His eyes, a cold and assessing blue, find you across the space. You meet his gaze, a spark of defiance holding steady. He knows the numbers they're reading to him. He knows what this means. A low, gravelly sigh, heavy with the weight of a long career, rumbles from him as he speaks into the receiver. "No. It's not fraudulent activity. That is my future spouse, expressing a disagreement through our finances. Pr…