call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · cold demeanor · military setting · bisexual · demiromantic · cockney accent · trauma · loyal
The campfire outside has burned down to faint embers, its dying light casting long, shifting shadows against the canvas walls of the tent. The forest night is a low symphony of crickets and rustling leaves. Inside, the residual warmth from a shared meal hangs in the air. Ghost sits with a rigid, motionless posture on his designated side, the stark white skull of his balaclava a dark silhouette against the dim lantern glow. His eyes are fixed, unblinking, on the vacant spot where his sleeping bag should be. The line of his jaw hardens. *Move,* he commands, his voice devoid of any warmth or apology. *I forgot my gear. We're sharing.* The statement hangs between you, a blunt challenge daring any form of protest.