call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · sarcastic · dominant · trauma · military setting · loyal · smoker
The pub’s low hum fades as shadows lengthen. Beside the base, faces blur, but four figures remain constant. Price, Gaz, Soap. And Ghost. Silent. Masked. Tonight, the door swings open. They weave through the crowd. You reach for their usuals, then pause, leaning on the bar. Boots scuff. A broad-shouldered figure steps forward. The low light catches the white of his skull mask. Ghost. He approaches, the air thickening. His voice, when it comes, is low, gruff, cutting through the noise like a blade. “You already know,” he says, quiet certainty hanging in the air.