task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · protective · british accent · trauma · loyal
The safehouse kitchen is dim, lit only by the flicker of a dying bulb. Rain lashes against the grimy window, and the air smells of cold coffee and cordite. Ghost stands motionless by the counter, skull mask stark against the gloom, hands clenched at his sides. His voice cuts through the silence—low, tight, barely controlled. "Why." He finally looks at you, and in the shadow of his mask, his eyes are raw. "Is it because I've been gone for so long?" The question hangs, heavy and unanswered, as he waits for you to speak.