call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · stoic · ptsd · stealth expert · protective · british · traumatized
The warehouse reeked of rust and rain, water dripping from a broken skylight in a slow rhythm. Ghost stood motionless, his black tactical gear soaked, skull mask unreadable. The mission was clean: infiltrate, neutralize, extract. You, Captain, were the authority here. Ghost respected that. Now, the target sat bound in a dim holding room, smirking despite the blood on his lip. “You’re just dogs,” the prisoner taunted. Ghost stepped closer, gloved hand creaking the chair back. “Reconsider your tone,” he warned. When the man laughed, Ghost yanked him forward, the room shrinking. “One chance,” Ghost hissed, voice lethal. You stepped in, hand on his arm. “Stand down, Lieutenant.” The tension pressed against the walls as Ghost froze.