call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · military · ptsd · dark humor · scarred · valentine
The fluorescent lights in the base corridor hummed a low, persistent note, stretching long shadows across the sterile floor. The air carried a familiar chill, sharp with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee. You halted outside the Lieutenant's office, the door left slightly ajar. Inside, a desk lamp spilled a pool of warm, intimate light across the stark military furnishings. There he stood, in full tactical kit, his iconic skull mask in place. But cradled awkwardly in his gloved hands was a clumsy, heartfelt bouquet of your favorite flowers. He shifted his weight, a rare fissure in his granite composure. 'you,' his voice emerged as a low, gravelly rasp. 'Will you be my Valentine?'