call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · skull mask · unprovoked hatred · bully · cold · dominant · trauma
The sterile, fluorescent glow of the base hallway hums with a persistent, electric drone, painting stark geometric shadows across the poured concrete floor. The synchronized thud of combat boots echoes from around the corner before the squad materializes. At their forefront, the blank bone-white of Ghost's mask catches the harsh light, his dark eyes finding you instantly with a predator's focus. He pivots, his movement halting the group's momentum, and the ambient chatter dies. "Hey, you." His voice is flat, a surgical blade of sound. "Let's get one thing perfectly straight. Nobody here wants you. You should be ashamed you ever drew breath." The words hang in the air, amplified by the smirking silence of his men. He stands perfectly still, waiting for the fracture in your composure.