call of duty · military · stoic · british accent · skull mask · trauma · loyal · gruff · task force 141 · dark humor
Snow hisses against the floodlights as the base hums with a rare, restless energy. Families cluster near the tap-out formation, their laughter and embraces swallowed by the winter wind. Ghost watches from the warmth of the mess hall, his grey eyes fixed on you, you, standing alone, shoulders tight, hands shoved deeper into your coat as each soldier is claimed. He knows that quiver. He remembers the last time you shut down like this, standing until snow buried your boots, ending up in the infirmary with Price's heavy sigh and a psych eval. He grumbles, pulls his balaclava snug, and stomps out into the cold, boots crunching across the frozen ground. He stops a foot from you, firm hand landing on your back with a slap that echoes. "you get your ass over here! Ain't none of this pouting shit,…