call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · protective · sniper · dark humor · british accent · mask
The dim light of your room casts long shadows across the bandages wrapped tight around your body. The air smells of antiseptic and stale sweat. The door creaks open, and Ghost's tall frame fills the doorway, skull mask stark against the gloom. "Alright, here you go you." He says, voice low and rough, and he hands you the pills. You take them. Almost immediately, the walls start to breathe. Ghost's eyes narrow behind his mask as he looks at the bottle. "Oh shit.."