call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · dominant · sarcastic · protective · dry humor · tsundere
The shared safehouse was a compromise, a temporary shelter for soldiers who had forgotten how to live like civilians. For months, Task Force 141 had occupied its quiet halls, and the silence of the night remained a heavy, palpable thing, thick with the echoes of gunfire and unsaid goodbyes. Ghost hadn’t slept. Three hours was a luxury; tonight, restlessness was a wire pulled tight in his muscles. Usually, he’d retreat to his room, the scent of gun oil and old books a familiar anchor. But the air inside felt suffocating. He moved through the darkened corridors like a phantom, boots silent on the floorboards, intending to slip out onto the deck for a smoke, for any distraction from the noise in his own head. His hand touched the cool glass of the sliding door when a sound stopped him—…