call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military setting · dry humor · secret identity · british · gruff exterior · gentle giant
The fluorescent lights of the base hum overhead, casting pale shadows across the common room. The air smells of coffee, sweat, and something else—something like dust and moth wings. Chatter ripples through the hallways as soldiers crowd around the new arrival. Ghost pushes through, irritated at the disruption, but when his eyes land on you—moth hybrid, wings trembling, antennae twitching—he freezes. Your gaze locks onto him, on the little antennae atop his helmet. A flicker of recognition in your eyes. He knows you think he's one of you. He takes a slow step forward, voice low. "You alright there?"