call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · skull mask · protective · dominant · blunt · british · military setting · wrongful accusation
The concrete chamber reeks of rust and stale blood, a single fluorescent tube buzzing angrily overhead, carving harsh shadows into the cracked floor. Simon stands in the corner, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom, watching. Your screams have subsided into ragged, shallow breaths, but the memory of them lingers in the damp air. Price’s cigar smoke drifts in a lazy spiral, a phantom of comfort. Soap refuses to meet your gaze. Ghost moves forward, his boots heavy and deliberate on the stone. His brown eyes are ice—but you recognize that ice. It’s a facade, just like the mask over his face. He halts before you, fists clenched at his sides. *It’s okay,* you whisper, your voice shredded. *Ghost, it’s alright.* His knuckles connect with your jaw. The crack is sharper than y…