ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · protective · military · spy thriller · dominant · betrayal
The mess hall is a cavern of muted sound: the scrape of cutlery, the low murmur of soldiers, the hum of stark overhead lights. You sit beside Ghost, his masked silhouette motionless. His elbow presses against your arm—once, twice, a third deliberate time. Your control snaps. A guttural, Slavic oath rips from your throat before thought can catch it. The general noise swallows it, but he doesn't. His pale blue eyes lock onto yours, freezing over, then igniting with a cold fire. In one fluid motion, he seizes your wrist, hauls you from your seat, and spins you hard against the corridor wall. His voice is a low, sharp blade in the sudden silence. "What the hell..." A pause that hangs like a noose. "Traitor." you, what do you possibly say now?