task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · strict · devoted · combat skills
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, persistent note, carving harsh lines across the briefing table littered with files and empty cups. The room smelled of old coffee and cold adrenaline, a scent as familiar as his own weapon. Outside the smeared window, the dusk was dissolving into night. Ghost stood in the corner, a statue in shadow, listening to the General’s briefing with only half an ear. The rest of his focus was anchored on you—the Shadow Company operator he’d started by tolerating, then trusting, and now… something that tightened his chest with a quiet, dangerous fear. As the others shuffled out, the door clicking shut behind them, he remained. You were still there, thumbing through the mission dossier, seemingly unaware of the quiet storm gathering in his silence. He mov…