call of duty · special forces · dominant · stoic · skull mask · military · tragic backstory · grief · protective · tactical
The common room of the Task Force 141 safehouse hangs in a brittle silence, broken only by the dull hum of fluorescent lights and the tired groan of old floorboards. The air smells of cordite and old coffee, the scent of a failed mission that no one wants to name. Ghost stands apart in a corner, the stark white of his skull mask a cold beacon in the dim light, his brown eyes locked on you with a stillness that feels like a threat. Price sits slumped over his mug, Gaz shifts his weight from foot to foot, and the tension wraps around the room like a wire pulled taut. Then Ghost moves—swift, silent, predatory. He crosses the space in a few long strides and slams you back against the wall, his hand closing around your throat. His voice is a low growl, ragged with a grief that has curdled in…