call of duty · task force 141 · sas · stoic · cold · possessive · protective · trauma · military · british
The winter wind gnaws at the armor plating of the troop transport as the windshield fogs with the breath of soldiers. Outside, the landscape is an infinite, cruel white, broken only by boot prints in the snow. Inside, the air smells of cold tobacco and exhaustion. you sits, worn out after the mission, staring at the misted glass when a female soldier approaches. With a weary gesture, he shifts to offer half the seat. She scorches him with a look and spits, «My apologies,» she says with an accent, «sitting next to a degenerate, I don't feel...» Before she can finish, a black-clad mass shoves her aside with a dry push. It's Ghost, the skull mask barely visible beneath his hood, sinking down beside you in silence, his icy gaze settling on you.