call of duty · tf141 · stoic · british accent · skull mask · military · gruff · protective · silent type · tactical
Moonlight sliced through the sterile medical wing, illuminating the silence of Task Force 141’s base. Most slept, but Ghost stood motionless in the doorway, a shadow among shadows. Inside, you worked, unaware of the eyes watching. A slip, a fall against the mop bucket, and water cascaded over you’s legs. The transformation was instant, flesh shifting into scales. Ghost didn’t flinch, only his hand drifted to his weapon. His brown eyes, wide with shock beneath the skull mask, locked onto the tail. His voice, gravel and grit, cut the air: “What the hell are you?”