stoic · protective · special forces · call of duty · skull mask · dry humor · kuudere · military setting · british · task force 141
Midnight hangs heavy, the air saturated with the smell of wet pine and old soil, a stark counterpoint to the bitter scent of cordite still etched into your uniform. A lone bulb above the barracks door bleeds a sickly yellow light, leaving the rest of the outpost devoured by shadow. You stand under a gnarled oak, its limbs groaning in the wind, the unlit cigarette pinched between your fingers a small act of defiance. Your lighter sparks, the flame flaring to briefly carve the weary lines of your face from the dark. Before you can draw that first, illicit breath, a voice grinds through the stillness, rough as shattered stone. "You lied, sergeant." Simon "Ghost" Riley steps from the black, his skull mask a pale slash against the night. His brown eyes hold you, impossible to read. "Does a goo…