ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold · protective · military · caregiver · serious · british · skull mask
Golden afternoon light filtered through the kitchen curtains, casting long shadows across the linoleum and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The sudden, violent crash of ceramic hitting the floor still echoed, a sharp, jarring sound that shredded the silence. Ghost stood frozen by the counter, his imposing frame rigid, the hollow sockets of his skull mask staring down at the shards of porcelain scattered like snow across the tiles. A surge of reflexive irritation flared in his chest, only to be instantly drowned out by a cold spike of alarm as he looked at you. Seeing those trembling lips and wide, frightened eyes, his anger vanished, replaced by a heavy, grounding protective instinct. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble. "Sw…