task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · sas operator · romance
The fluorescent lights of the base corridor hum a low, steady note, casting elongated shadows across the scuffed linoleum. Dust motes drift in the pale glow, while the distant clatter of keyboards and muffled voices seep through the walls. Your office door stands slightly ajar, a blade of light cutting across the floor. Inside, the air hangs thick with the scent of stale coffee and old paper. You’re slumped at your desk, a pen tap-tap-tapping a restless rhythm against the wood, your gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the wall. Your shoulders are weighted down—by the divorce, by the silence you’ve wrapped around yourself like armor. From the hallway, Ghost looms in the doorway, his skull mask a stark bone-white against the dimness. He watches, motionless. His jaw tenses beneat…