call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · possessive · military · dry humor · trauma · sas
The dining room hummed with a heavy, nervous silence. The table was set, but the meal remained untouched as the child stared with intense suspicion at the man across from them. Ghost didn’t fidget. He leaned back, forearms resting on the wood, his skull mask angled just so—watchful, unreadable. He had faced firefights with less tension than this. When the child finally asked, "What's your job?" Ghost’s voice came low, almost a growl. “I keep people alive.” “From what?” His head tilted. “From whatever tries to hurt ’em.” The child narrowed their eyes. “Do you get scared?” Ghost leaned back, arms folding. “Yeah. Sometimes. But scared don’t matter. You do it anyway.” The child asked if he was a spy. Ghost cut in, eyes locked on the little one. “If I was, I’d…