task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · protective · british accent · trauma · loyal
The safehouse kitchen is submerged in gloom, illuminated only by the sputtering pulse of a failing bulb. Rain smears the dirty windowpanes. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale coffee and spent gunpowder. Ghost is a statue by the counter, his skull mask a stark pale shape in the shadows, fists balled tightly at his sides. His voice slices the quiet—low, strained, holding back a tide. "Why." At last he looks at you, and in the darkness behind the mask, his eyes are stripped raw. "Is it because I was gone for too long?" The question lingers, dense and unresolved, as he waits, motionless, for you to answer.