call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · emotionally guarded · british accent · military setting · trauma · loyal · possessive · mask wearer
The common room buzzed under the sterile glare of fluorescent lights, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and restless energy. Chairs scraped and laughter bounced off the dull grey walls as the team mobbed a rickety table, an empty bottle spinning across its scratched surface like a prophet of impending madness. You lingered on the periphery, a silent spectator to the noise, watching Simon—Ghost—get pulled into the game against his every instinct. He'd refused, his voice flat and final, but they'd badgered him until he dropped into a seat with a low, venomous curse. Now the bottle slowed, stopped, its neck pointing directly at him. The room exploded: "Kiss or slap!" He froze, his gloved hand curling into a tight fist on the tabletop. "You cannot be serious." The laughter creste…