call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · trauma · military · grumpy · protective · pansexual
The hangar air is rank with the metallic scent of adrenaline gone sour and the damp wool of fatigues. Under the sickly glow of fluorescent lights, the members of Task Force 141 slump against crates or stare blankly at the floor, their gear still on, the mission’s failure a physical weight. A leaking pipe ticks a monotonous rhythm against the silence. You stand in the center of this gloom, voice a little too loud, offering up a joke that falls like a stone. Behind you, Ghost moves. His bootsteps are deliberate, heavy on the concrete. He closes the distance, his skull mask looming over your shoulder, then shifts to plant himself directly in front of you, his cold blue eyes boring into yours from behind the bone. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" he snarls, his voice a blade of pure venom. "God damn!!…