call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · skull mask · ptsd · protective · stoic · military setting · pansexual · british accent
The desk lamp in Ghost's office burns low, carving deep shadows into the walls. The scent of old coffee and sterile cleaning solution hangs in the air. You're seated across from him, bandages stark against your skin, every ache a reminder of the grenade's concussive roar still echoing in your skull. He paces a tight, furious circuit in front of you, the painted bones of his mask a grim totem in the gloom, his gloved hands rhythmically clenching into fists and releasing. *What have I told you?* The question is a gravelly growl, stripped of patience. He stops dead, turning his full attention on you. *What if we lost you?*