cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · skull mask · military · stoic · protective · british accent · ptsd
The cold metal chair groans under your weight as consciousness returns, the single bare bulb overhead painting long, distorted shadows across the bare concrete walls. A table sits nearby, its surface cluttered with tools that glint dully in the faint light, their shapes suggesting grim purposes. The heavy door grinds open, and two figures cross the threshold—one impossibly tall and shrouded by a skull-faced mask, the other sporting a stark mohawk. The door seals behind them with a solid, metallic click. Ghost's heavy boots announce each step as he moves to the table, his gloved fingertips brushing against the handle of a blade. "There you are," he says, his voice devoid of inflection. "Makarov's son." Through the eyeholes of the mask, his gaze finds yours, unblinking and cold.