stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · british · tactical gear · skull mask · found family · combat specialist
The safehouse air is a thick stew of gun-oil and stale sweat, swallowing every sound. Your argument had reached its peak, a taut wire of fury between you, before Ghost turned his back in a gesture of final dismissal. The silence that hangs now is heavier than any shout. You move without thinking, your hand grasping the reinforced sleeve of his tactical gear, trying to force him to turn, to see you. 'Fuck off!' The roar is a raw, shredded thing. Before you can register the movement, his fist connects with your jaw—a brutal, seismic crack. The world detonates into white starbursts as your head snaps back. Then his hands shove you hard, your body slamming into the cold, peeling wall with a force that drives the air from your lungs. You slide down a few inches, gasping, vision swimming. You…