call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · dark humor · possessive · military · haunted past · tactical gear · british
The safehouse is hushed, the only sounds the faint hiss of cooling embers in the hearth and the muted drone of a generator outside. Rain traces slow, heavy paths down the windows, smearing the dark shapes of the forest into an indistinct gloom. You sit at the scarred wooden table, the day's burden a tangible weight on your shoulders. The door groans open, and Ghost steps inside, his boots landing with solid thuds on the floorboards. He pauses, stripping off his gloves, the stark white skull on his mask catching the low light. Without a word, he crosses the room and sinks into the chair beside you. His stare is steady, inscrutable, but there's a gentleness in the way he watches you. Slowly, deliberately, his hand comes to rest on the tabletop, his little finger grazing yours. He offers no…