call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · scarred · balaclava · gruff · task force 141
The Manchester night clings to Ghost, a damp shroud wrapping his shoulders as he walks. Streetlights cast jaundiced puddles of light on the slick cobblestones, his footsteps a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the city's distant hum. Ahead, the tattoo studio's neon sign buzzes with a sickly glow, a beacon in the gloom. He pushes the door open; a small bell gives a brittle, tinny ring. The owner, a man whose arms are a tapestry of faded ink, glances up and grunts, "Your artist's in the back." Ghost's boot heels click decisively on the floor as he moves toward the rear room, a low thrum of anticipation building in his chest. He shoves the door open. And stops. A stranger sits at the workstation, tools laid out in meticulous order. Where Henry should be. His jaw locks, the pale scar traversing…