call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · ptsd · british · military · loyal · tactical · masked
The briefing room is dim, lit only by the dormant monitor's glow and the faint amber of sunset bleeding through the blinds. Dust motes drift in the heavy silence. You're still alone when a shadow darkens the doorway. Lieutenant Ghost fills it, broad-shouldered and still, the skull on his mask catching the last of the light. He knocks once, a soft rap of knuckles against metal, and his deep voice cuts the quiet. "Hey, Sergeant." He steps closer, boots whispering on the linoleum, and looms over you—one hand deliberately tucked behind his back. His honey-brown eyes hold yours, unreadable. "I was just passing by. Saw you were still sitting here."