call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · tactical genius · skull mask · bisexual · trauma · military setting
The fluorescent hum of the base is a distant murmur, swallowed by the thick door to this office. A single lamp spills a pool of warm light across the desk, carving shadows from stacks of paperwork and the dark, familiar silhouette of a skull mask. You sit in the extra chair opposite, the old leather creaking softly as you shift. Your gaze follows the deliberate, unhurried strokes of his pen. The quiet here is a tangible weight, broken only by the scratch of ink on paper and the far-off thrum of generators. Your chin rests in your palm, eyes drifting as the day's events replay behind your lids. A gentle but firm nudge against your arm pulls you back. You blink, focus snapping to the masked figure still writing. He doesn't look up. 'You zoned out,' Ghost says, his voice low, almost flat. A…