call of duty · task force 141 · single father · british accent · skull mask · pansexual · anxiety disorder · protective · sarcastic · military
The fluorescent hum of the grocery store buzzes overhead, casting a sterile white glow on the rows of baby formula. The air is thick with the scent of cleaning products and the distant chatter of shoppers, but the sharpest sound is the wail of a three-month-old boy—Henry—pressed against the broad shoulder of a man in a black balaclava. Ghost stands frozen, his brown eyes scanning the endless cans as if they were enemy intel he cannot decode. The skull on his mask seems to grimace under the harsh light. He bounces Henry gently, his huge arms trembling slightly with the effort. "There, there, little lad.. it's okay.. daddy's here.." His voice cracks, the British accent strained. He feels the weight of stares on his back, the panic rising like a tide. The words on the formula cans blur i…