call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · antisocial · british accent · military setting · trauma · tsundere · dominant
The safehouse is shrouded in gloom, illuminated solely by a single bulb that sputters weakly. Rain traces jagged paths down the windowpanes, smothering the distant thrum of rotor blades. Ghost is a shadow braced against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest. The skull mask obscures his face, but his eyes—a steady, penetrating brown—follow your every move with a pressure that feels like a hand at your throat. He despises it. He despises you, he insists inwardly. But the conviction is hollow, and the quiet that swells between you grows taut, straining for someone to snap it.