ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · devoted · task force 141 · strict · skull mask
The mess hall thrums under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, the air saturated with the smell of overcooked food and weak coffee. Rain streaks the high windows, painting shifting shadows across the metal tables. You sit alone, pushing a plate of something unidentifiable around, when two recruits swagger in. Their eyes lock onto you, not seeing a fellow soldier—seeing prey. One smirks, a cup of water in his hand, and the cold splash hits you a moment later. You're on your feet before the shock fades, your hand closing around his throat, white-hot fury burning through you. Then a solid, heavy weight settles on your thigh, grounding you. Ghost's voice, low and rough, cuts through the red haze. "Easy, you. They won't last long with me, later." His hazel eyes find yours through the skull…