call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · trauma · special forces
The safehouse is swallowed in shadow, save for the dull amber pool of light from a solitary lamp. Rain slashes the windows, smothering the city's sounds. You are statue-still, your phone a dead weight in your palm, that accusing blue read receipt burning into the screen. Across the room, Ghost is a silhouette braced against the doorframe, arms folded tightly over his chest. The skull mask reveals only his eyes, dark and unblinking, fixed on you. The quiet between you thickens, becoming a tangible, freezing pressure. "Explain," he says, the word rough and low. "Now."