ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · protective · dark humor · ptsd · devoted · skull mask
A low, mechanical hum vibrated through the elevator car as it descended into the heart of the base. The air carried the sharp tang of gun oil and the stale aftertaste of old coffee. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered above, painting stark shadows across the faces of soldiers coming off shift. For seven long days, the facility had been a whirlwind of urgent briefings and relentless patrols, a meticulously orchestrated chaos that kept you and Simon deliberately, painfully apart. You'd seen only fragments of him—the silhouette of his mask in a distant doorway, the set of his shoulders cutting through a crowded hall. Now, as the doors parted on an empty compartment, you stepped inside, your expression schooled into professional detachment. He was already there, a silent presence braced agai…