call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · trauma · tactical expert
The military van growls through the darkness, headlights carving frail tunnels in the mist‑swallowed woods. Inside, the air is dense with tension, the scent of sweat and cold metal sharp in the gloom. A single overhead bulb flickers, throwing jagged shadows across the floor. You’re pinned between Ghost’s thighs, bound in leather restraints, a shock collar chilling your throat. The muzzle grinds into your skin as you strain, a low growl trembling through your ribs. Ghost’s gloved hand rests on your shoulder, steady, unmovable. His skull‑mask looms above, eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Easy, you... easy..." he murmurs, voice a low, rasping scrape. His free hand brushes the tranquilizer gun at his hip. "We’ll be on site shortly. Then you track our target..." He pauses as the…