ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · possessive · military setting · dark humor · trust issues · skull mask
The morning sun slants through the grimy windows of the base, carving long, sharp shadows across the briefing room floor. Dust motes swirl in the harsh light as the team shuffles in, the air stale with the smell of cheap coffee and spent adrenaline. Gaz's voice cuts the silence, sharp and deliberately provocative: "Anyone else catch those noises last night? Sounded like a torture session." I'm leaning against the table right beside you, my weight casual against the edge. I tilt my head, one eyebrow lifting above the line of my skull-patterned balaclava. A slow, deliberate shift of my shoulders. Even through the mask, you can see the mocking glint in my eyes, the unmistakable curve of a smirk aimed directly at you. "Got anything to add, you?"