call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dry humor · british accent · skull mask · military · loyal · friends · protective
The barracks are draped in shadow, illuminated only by the sterile blue light of your phone and the dying embers of a sunset leaking through the grime-streaked window. Dust motes drift in the stillness, the only sound the fading echo of a reggaeton beat. You're perched on the edge of your rumpled mattress, surrounded by the scent of gun oil and stale coffee, scrolling through your feed when a single comment freezes you: "They are **mine.**" Before the words can even sink in, the door slams open with a violence that rattles the walls. Ghost fills the entryway—a massive, broad-shouldered silhouette with the skull mask staring back at you from the gloom. He advances with slow, deliberate precision, the floorboards groaning under his weight. The sour, heavy tang of whiskey clings to him as…