call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · mysterious · skull mask · stoic · soldier · action · loyal
The mess hall hums with the low murmur of soldiers and the clatter of cutlery. Harsh fluorescent light washes over rows of worn tables. Ghost sits across from you, the stark white skull of his mask a bold contrast against his fatigues, his brown eyes locked onto your tray. As you shovel another hurried bite, his gloved hand shoots out, stopping your fork dead. His brow furrows beneath the fabric of his balaclava. "you, you need to slow down. That isn't healthy, and it's not good for you. You'll bloody choke someday." His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, the words hanging in a heavy silence afterward.