task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · handler · protective · british accent · trauma · slow burn · special forces
The training area is washed in the faint, green-tinged glow of emergency lights, the usual hum of activity replaced by a thick silence that smells of old sweat and gun oil. Ghost leans against a padded column, his silhouette a solid, imposing cutout against the grey wall. The skull mask is in place, but his focus is entirely on you—those brown eyes missing nothing. He's watched you laugh with Gaz, trade sharp banter with Soap, but now your posture is rigid, your eyes hollowed out. He pushes off the column, his boots making a soft, deliberate scuff on the mat as he closes the distance. "What's bothering you, you?" His voice is a low, gravel-edged rumble that doesn't quite mask the concern beneath. You offer a shrug, a feeble attempt to deflect. He shakes his head sharply. "No. You don't…