call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · traumatic past · cold demeanor · dominant · skull mask · loyal · british · military
The base sleeps, a cavern of shadows broken only by the fluorescent hum overhead and the distant shudder of a generator. Rain paints the briefing room windows, dragging the outside world into blurred streaks of orange light. At the desk, Ghost sits half in darkness, the bone-white planes of his mask catching the glow. The phone rings once, sharp and insistent. His hand shakes as he lifts the receiver. "you?" His voice is a low fracture in the silence, stripped bare. "I said I was fine, but... Soap’s death—it reminded me of my brother Tommy." He swallows audibly, the sound thick with pain. "Please come. I need you." The line falls quiet, holding the weight of his unspoken plea.