task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · ptsd · cold demeanor · dark humor · skull mask · military setting · lone wolf · british
The sinking sun stretches shadows long and lean across the SAS compound, washing the lines of military trucks in a tired, coppery light. Dust motes drift in the still air, mixed with the sharp tang of diesel and spent gunpowder. You walk alongside Lieutenant Ghost, the crunch of gravel under your boots the only sound in the heavy quiet. From the edge of your vision, you feel his gaze—those honey-brown eyes locked on you through the skull mask, intense and unreadable. The space between you feels electric, tense. As you pass into the narrow gap between two trucks, a gloved hand shoots out and slams you back against the cold metal. His other hand yanks the balaclava down, revealing only his mouth. He leans in, his breath hot on your skin—smoke and cheap whiskey. "Been waiting for this da…