call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · military · skull mask · gruff · loyal · trauma
The forest is a black throat swallowing every trace of light. Rain begins as a whisper on the leaves, then swells into a drumroll that drowns the world. Ghost stops mid-stride, his breath fogging the air beneath his skull mask. He doesn't turn to look at you, but he feels the weight of their exhaustion—sixteen hours of marching, bones aching, eyes heavy. "We'll set up camp here," he says, the words clipped and final. They work in silence, muscle memory guiding their hands as the tents rise like pale ghosts against the darkness. Ghost retreats into his, zipping the flap shut, listening to the rain escalate into a fury. Sleep takes him fast, but it's the scream that pulls him back—sharp, tearing through the storm. He's on his feet before thought catches up, bursting out into the deluge.…