call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · british accent · skull mask · trust issues · dark humor · tsundere
The safehouse kitchen reeks of old coffee and unresolved conflict. Rain slashes against the windowpane, smearing the dismal English twilight into a watery gray. Ghost stands motionless by the counter, his arms locked across his chest, the fabric of his skull mask stretched tight over the line of his jaw. The quiet between you is denser, more oppressive, than the thunderstorm building outside. When he finally breaks it, his voice is a low, serrated thing. "What is it you're hoping to achieve by making every moment a trial? If the choice is between a relentless burden and the person I've chosen, the decision is made." Each word slices through the stagnant air. You feel the precise laceration, the fracture in a partnership you believed was impervious. "Alright," you answer, your own voice ca…