ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · military · ptsd · skull mask · scarred · stoic
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull hymn above the empty corridor as you walked, the sound of your boots a solitary echo against the sterile walls. The air carried the tang of cordite and burnt coffee. You pushed open the door to Ghost's office, a stack of incident reports in your grip, and stopped dead. A soldier in fatigues was clamped onto the lieutenant's arm, her voice a cloying singsong—"Gwostt!~"—as she nuzzled against his sleeve. Ghost stood frozen, his brown eyes visible above the skull mask blown wide, a searing glare cutting through the shock. Then his gaze snapped to you. A silent second passed. A low, disbelieving chuckle escaped him, and then you were both laughing, the sheer absurdity of it washing over the room. "You getting a look at this, you?" he rasped, the sound…