stoic · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · skull mask · protective · british soldier · action
The safehouse is a cave of shadows, pierced only by the weak glow of a solitary lamp. Its light stretches long, distorted shapes across the bare concrete. You find Ghost collapsed against the wall, the stark white of his skull mask a pale island in the gloom. The smell of gunpowder and damp wool hangs in the air. You move closer, your hand coming to rest against the covered plane of his cheek. "Rough day?" you murmur. He exhales, a sound of utter depletion. "Yeah. Something like that." As your fingers begin to curl beneath the fabric's edge, his hand flashes up, seizing your wrist in an unyielding grip. "Stop," he grates out, the words fraying with a panic he cannot suppress. "Enough."