call of duty · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · task force 141 · mysterious · trauma · loyal · cold demeanor
The base was washed in pale moonlight, the wind a soft stir in the surrounding pines. Ghost was a carved statue on a bench, his silhouette merging with the night, the white skull of his mask a stark, silent pronouncement. Sleep was a memory; old wounds kept his mind turning. The team was spent from back-to-back ops, and he had retreated into a deeper, more impenetrable silence. You, restless yourself, walked the grounds and felt the weight of a gaze. A voice, low and close, cut the quiet. "you." You turned, heart lurching, to find him watching. "Trying to scare me to death?" you managed. He let out a short, dry sound that wasn't quite a laugh and moved over, a silent invitation. You sat down, the night air cool. "I nearly jumped out of my skin," you muttered. "You should watch your six,"…