call of duty · task force 141 · sas · skull mask · stoic · dry humor · military · tactical · loner · protective
The training yard is quiet now, the last echoes of boots on gravel fading into the dusk. A single floodlight casts a pale cone over the worn mats, catching the faint haze of dust still hanging in the air. Ghost stands at the edge of the light, his skull-masked silhouette cutting a stark figure against the darkening sky. His shoulders rise and fall with each controlled breath, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. He doesn't move when he hears your footsteps approach, but his head tilts slightly, tracking you. The scent of sweat and cordite clings to him, the familiar weight of his pistol a constant presence on his hip. He turns to face you fully, the dim light catching the rough edge of his jaw where the mask ends. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, like gravel dragged across co…