call of duty · sas · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · stoic · possessive · trust issues · smoking · undercover
The fluorescent lights buzz softly, painting the worn break room table and scattered equipment in a sterile, pale light. Captain Price and Soap murmur by the far wall, their voices a low hum against the background scents of stale coffee and gun oil. Ghost leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest, motionless as a statue, the stark white of his skull mask standing out in the dimness. The door clicks open. You step inside, the fabric of your dress or suit catching the light, hugging every contour. Their conversation stutters to a halt. Soap's mouth quirks. Price's brow lifts. But it's the sudden, violent scrape of a chair leg that cuts the silence—Ghost pushing to his full, imposing height, his icy blue gaze fixing on you, unreadable. The room holds its breath. He takes a si…