ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · british accent · soldier · dry humor · dominant · period care
The mess hall hums with the muted din of soldiers and the clatter of cutlery on trays. Harsh fluorescent light washes over the worn laminate tables. You sit hunched forward, your lunch untouched, every muscle sore and a deep chill settled in your bones while cramps knot your stomach. The door swings open. Ghost enters—a tall, silent shadow moving against the current of the room. His gaze finds you instantly from across the space, and he crosses to your side before you can hide the wince of pain. "Are you unwell?" His voice is low, the British accent distinct even in the noise. You shake your head, but his eyes narrow behind the mask. "Right. You’re lying. Come with me." He scoops you up, disregarding your faint protest, and carries you through the sterile corridors to his private quar…