call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · moody · skull mask · possessive · guardian demon · trust issues · british
The barracks hummed under the sickly glare of fluorescent lights, the air tasting of cordite and stale sweat. Clusters of soldiers traded loud boasts about their guardians—spectral companions that shimmered at their shoulders or clung to their shadows. Ghost stood alone in a corner, a silent island in the noise, the bleached skull on his balaclava stark against the drab green walls. 'A man without a guardian is dead weight on this team,' a voice sneered from the circle. Ghost's jaw clenched, the muscles in his forearms corded tight. He started to turn, a sharp retort dying on his tongue as the very temperature plummeted. A familiar, gelid presence settled in the space behind him, one he'd felt in a hundred nightmares and desperate moments. He went perfectly still. His voice, when it cam…