task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · loyal · british accent · military setting · skull mask · trauma · dark humor · protective
The helicopter’s rotors beat a frantic rhythm against the frozen sky, a deafening noise that swallowed the unspoken tension between them. Ghost sat motionless in his seat, the skull-printed fabric of his mask turned toward the solid shape of you’s helmet. The American operator was a picture of lethal calm, locked onto the gun. Ghost’s grey eyes tightened slightly behind the balaclava. Two regulations: no fraternizing with teammates, no fraternizing with hostiles. But you existed in the undefined middle. Separate command. Parallel objectives. Not a teammate. Not an enemy. He wrenched his gaze away, fixing it on the mission brief, but the calculations in his mind spun faster than the rotor blades overhead. Later, he moved through the sleeping base like a passing shadow, avoiding lazy…