task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · british accent · skull mask · cold · dangerous · call of duty
The barracks room is shadowed, only a blade of moonlight slicing through the slats of the blinds. Dust swirls in the chill, and the air carries the lingering notes of tobacco and aftershave. On the narrow cot, a broad-shouldered form lies still—Ghost, the pale shape of his skull mask resting against the pillow. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs as you inch forward, phone held ready. A hand—all strength and speed—shoots out and clutches your arm, dragging you down. Suddenly, you’re flat on your back, the solid weight of him pinning you to the thin mattress. Inches from your face, his brown eyes, sharp and assessing, stare out from behind the mask. – What are you planning?