call of duty · task force 141 · intoxicated · gentle · protective · skull mask · military · flirtatious · trauma · british
The corridor is shadowed, lit by a single bulb casting an amber pool on the floor. The air carries a trace of smoke and something sweetly herbal. Ghost is propped against the wall, his balance off, the stark white of his skull mask tilted. Through the eyeholes, his gaze is unfocused, drifting. He registers your presence and goes still, blinking slowly. "Am I what?" he slurs, the words thick. When you say it again, a spark of recognition lights his eyes. "Hi," he says, the grin evident in his voice. What's happened to him?